


never gets old

by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anti-Sexwork Slurs, Anxiety Attacks, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove is a Model, Cybersex, Dumb boys being dumb boys, Exhibitionism, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Marathon Sex, Miscommunication, Money Exchanged for Sex or Sexual Content, Not Real World Accurate, Panic Attacks, Paparazzi, Phone Sex, Pining, Power Imbalance, Secret Identity, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Cam worker, Sex Work, Somnophilia, Steve Harrington is a Cam Boy, Texting, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, a touch of mistaken identity, just so much sex, secrecy, this is a feel good sex + fluff combo punch to the gut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 78,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Falling in love with a cam boy namedKingSteveisn't the smartest thing Billy Hargrove has ever done, nor is it the most healthy -- but the good choice is rarely ever the fun choice, and Billy is all about living life fast and loose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains: the exchange of money for sex, sex work in general, a power imbalance, bad communication, and other themes that some readers might find distasteful or prefer to avoid. please heed the tags for your own enjoyment. 
> 
> the sex work depicted here is not real-world accurate; it a romanticized, fictional representation that conveniently fits a plot. please don't assume any truths from this.

It's not often that Billy has some time to himself. Not with the life he lives. Sure, it’s glamorous and flashy and generally fun as hell -- but it’s _relentless_. He’s constantly on the move, flying from job to job. Between his work phone (blowing up with calls from his agent, from notifications on his _insta_, from offers coming in through his professional email) and his personal cell (which fields equally as many calls from his agent, his sister constantly on his back, and randos trying to hit him up after he lets his number slip after one too many drinks at parties) he doesn’t get to rest. Not even a little bit. He doesn’t get the _time_.

But when he does, he eats it up, greedy for it. Unwilling to bend, or to give it up. Absolutely unyielding about it.

He spends his time _relaxing_. He can’t afford to let the stress show on his face.

The only problem is that his version of _relaxing_ isn’t sitting poolside, sipping fancy smoothies from a glass straw. It’s not ordering a masseuse to come by and work out the kinks in his back. It’s not hot yoga or running or any of the usual physical practices some of his co-workers and peers might be into.

Instead, it’s surfing web pages a lot like this one. Ones with lewd ads in the corners and that he has to make sure his laptops on _mute_ before he opens.

At least until he finds _Sweet Secrets_\-- a premium website set up for _discerning individuals who value their privacy_. Or, at least, that’s what the page claims. Billy’s pleased to note that it’s not nearly as trashy as some of the other sites he’s been on; clean lines, crisp formatting, no ads. It makes him feel like less of a creep when he starts browsing.

It's also how he finds the stream.

It's how he meets _KingSteve_.

The first thing he notices isn’t even his thumbnail-- something he later goes back to appreciate, rather thoroughly-- a close-up of a pretty, pink mouth, lips parted, fingertips dragging his lower lip down in pure provocation. Instead, the first thing Billy registered when he saw one of _KingSteve’s_ streams for the very first time was the _music_ he had playing during the stream-- a frankly ingenious little addition the webpage added at the bottom of every _Streaming Now _tab-- and he noticed it was “Love in an Elevator” by Aerosmith.

He’d been quick to click in after that.

Really, every site like this is laid out in a similar fashion. It doesn’t take long to get his bearings. He does have to pay to get into the room, which is a little different -- but this website promises instant gratification in the way that others don’t; Billy isn’t joining a room just to watch someone chill out for hours, no -- the second he pays and gets in, he’s treated to an actual show.

He really means to get the lay of the land before he starts watching, he _does_. Even though he doesn’t _need_ to. He just likes seeing what people are saying in the chat, likes to figure out where the _tip_ button is, always figures it’s good to know where the _buy a private party_ option is.

But he doesn’t.

He gets stuck on the pretty picture on the screen, attention rapt, focus held.

He’s seen plenty of beautiful people-- hell, he gets _paid_ to _be one_. He works with them. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone who makes his gut pull taut, who makes his breath catch a little, just at a first glance.

Sitting back against a plush chair, a bed in the background, and stroking himself off for the camera is the prettiest goddamn guy he’s ever seen.

His hair is dark, his eyes darker, mouth open as he pants. His skin is pale, though there’s a flush on his face bleeding down his neck, and his camera is good quality because Billy can make out the scattering of beauty marks-- or maybe moles-- across his body.

He’s naked and jerking off, cock big and long in a strong but delicate looking hand, hips arching up off the seat as he moans. He’s fucking _breathtaking_.

Billy can’t get his hand into his pants fast enough.

He’s at home, for once, so he doesn’t feel bad about clicking the volume on after he gets a hand on his cock. Once he does, he’s treated to the pretty little sounds of _KingSteve_’s moans and the dirty, wet sound of his hand on his cock. There’s a rush of heat as Billy jerks himself to the picture in front of him, captivated by the sight of some guy he’s never met, never even _seen_ before.

_KingSteve_ has got one leg slung over the armrest of his chair, so his thighs are splayed open, so Billy can really get the full _view,_ his body resting back in the opposite corner. The foot half in frame is flexing and pointing, toes curling, as he twists his grip over his dick-- like he’s genuinely _enjoying it_, stroking off like this, in front of a camera. Then, he’s reaching between his legs with his other hand-- the one that _was_ clutching at the cushion beneath him-- and he cups his sac with a groan.

There are pings from the chat. Donations-- pretty big ones-- trickling in as _KingSteve_ arches and hisses out a breath.

“Fuck, you guys are gonna make me come like _this_, aren’t you?” he asks, half laughing, head lulling back as his hips lurch up; smiling like he’s _expected it_, like this is _normal_, like he’s used to getting off for a crowd, at least once, before anyone pays enough to go _private_.

Billy feels like he's gonna come _now_. He feels the spike of it, the hot wave of desire and heat -- but he wants to _savor_ this like the treat that it is. He wants to draw it out for himself.

So, he slows down his own strokes.

He even tears his eyes off _KingSteve_ and glances at the chat, where patrons are _begging_ Steve to come, and _pleading_ for him to get a finger in himself, or a toy.

_KingSteve _only chuckles, though it comes out breathy, caught up in a moan. “If you wanna see that, baby, you can pay for private,” he says, like a _brat_.

Billy falls a little bit in love.

And while Steve isn’t going to give them _exactly _what they want, he doesn’t stop stroking. Doesn’t stop touching himself, pace steady and sure, cock shiny and slick with lube as he pumps over himself. And while he doesn’t sink his fingers into his ass like the chat is salivating for, he does bring his hand up to his mouth and slide two fingers past his lips. Hollows his cheeks and _sucks_.

Like a _promise_.

Moans, too. Cock weeping at the tip. Like he really _likes it_, jerking off and sucking on his own fingers.

The chat _explodes_ for half a second.

Billy doesn't join in. He makes it a habit never to type in those things. But he does agree privately, that Steve is hot shit with his cock dripping and his lips parted with something between them.

Steve groans, hips arching up and off of his chair, like he's searching for more, like he _needs_ it. Billy can't stop himself from wishing he could give Steve what he wanted, because he _knows _he could. He could play Steve's body like an instrument, could worship him better than anyone. It's devastating, just how much Billy _wants_ him.

His rhythm falters a little, when Steve starts to tremble. When he sees the way the muscles under his skin draw taut-- toes curling again, knees pulling up a bit-- as his hand gets _faster_. Billy feels his breath grow _heavy_ at the way Steve’s _broadcasting_ just how _close_ he is, without saying a damn word, just groaning around his fingers and letting his eyes flutter and then roll back.

And then Steve is _coming_, spilling out in white, hot stripes in his hand and against his own stomach. Straining through it and ripping his fingers from his mouth so he can reach back and clutch at the head of the chair, knuckles bleaching with how hard he has to hold on, as he gasps with his jaw hanging loose

He’s a _piece of art_.

Billy's never been more fucking attracted to someone. Never more turned on. It's a realization that hits like a punch to the gut.

But it doesn't stop him. It only fuels his fire, getting his hand moving a little faster again as he watches Steve stroke himself through it, as he dips his fucking fingers into his own come and brings them _back_ to his dick, to mix with the lube there. Never _stopping_.

It's hot as _sin_.

Steve’s hand slows, sure, but he does keep up an idle motion as he comes back down. As his cock softens a little, in his grip, until he’s twitching and hissing-- oversensitive-- and _still touching himself_. _Playing_ with himself.

His head lulls over, and he smiles dopily at the camera, chest rising and falling at a steadier pace now. “Was it good for you?” he asks, and _laughs_.

Billy groans, eyes caught on Steve's dick -- and then on his face.

He's so goddamn _cute _when he says: “Because _shit_, it was so good for me.”

Steve licks his lips, pink tongue darting out playfully as he huffs out an oversensitive noise, fingers still light over his cock.

Billy's orgasm hits him fast and hard. It leaves him with hot, sticky ropes of come painting his tee, leaves him gasping out for breath. He slumps in his chair, staring dazedly at the screen as Steve _wiggles_ a little, like he might be trying to get away from his own hand. It’s so hot it makes Billy’s spent cock give a painful little kick.

The sound of a bell ringing, like someone at the front door, brings him out of it.

On the screen, Steve perks. He leans up a bit and grins, bright and lopsided, and winks at the camera.

“Sorry, fellas, ladies,” Steve says. “Looks like I’m bought and paid for, this evening.”

He leans forward, toward the camera and what must be a desktop, because Billy hears the sound of keys being struck. Then, Steve uses the hand still sticky with come to blow a kiss to his audience.

“Catch you guys next time,” he says. “You know where to find me.”

And then the screen goes dark; a big, bold _Private Mode_ at the center.

Billy looks at the screen, then down at himself. He’s disgusting. He wants more.

He sighs.

Then, he subscribes to _KingSteve_’s feed, turns on fucking _notifications_, closes the window, and then clears his browser history.

He knows he’ll be back.

\--

When Billy gets the next alert that _KingSteve_ is streaming, he’s coming back from the gym after a long day. He’s exhausted, sweaty, and coiled too tight. He’d tried to work off some of his excess energy at the gym, but he still feels a bit like clawing out of his skin, even though he’s exhausted to the core.

He knows, in comparison to some of his more female counterparts, he doesn't have quite as many standards to meet. Not as many hoops to jump through. But the dieting and gym routines get old after a while.

So the alert comes as a pleasant surprise. It starts a fire in his gut and has him picking up the pace-- taking the stairs up to his bedroom two at a time despite the strain in his legs.

He knows it’s stupid to be so excited about something, but he can’t help the way his cock starts to chub in his shorts or the way his heartbeat kicks up in his chest. He flops down in front of the computer in record time, kicking off his shorts as he pulls his laptop to the bed, stretching out with the screen next to him. It doesn’t take too long to log back onto the website -- and when he does, _KingSteve_’s stream is _right there_ on his main page, because Billy didn’t subscribe to anyone else.

When he clicks in, he’s greeted by the pretty sight of _KingSteve_ tugging off his shirt real slow, grinning at the camera as the viewers come in. His hair is a mess but the polo he tosses aside looks pressed. His khakis, too.

Jesus, _KingSteve _is _preppy_.

"Hey, everybody," he says, pushing his hair back from his face. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

Fuck, he's _cheesy_, too.

Billy feels weak in the fucking _knees_, even though he’s lying _down_. Jesus, he’s got it bad.

He tips $20 (or the on-site equivalent of _tokens_) because he’s a fucking loser.

“Oh shit, already?” Steve says, leaning forward to look at his computer. When he smiles, it’s big and bright and Billy goes all loose. “Thanks, _LikeAHurricane._ Someone’s happy to see me.”

He pulls back from the screen after that, thumbing his fly open easily with deft fingers. He winks.

"I think I've got just the thing for you," he says.

Then, he's pulling out his phone, tapping over the screen for a second. In the next, _Scorpions _starts playing over his speakers. The guitar riff is loud and Steve winces a little before turning the volume down.

"_Not _my usual taste," Steve admits with a little shrug. "But I can make an exception."

Billy’s definitely in _love_.

Hand on his dick, he tips another $20 as a thank you. He doesn’t _say_ anything in the chat, though -- that shit’s for chumps.

The chat explodes as Steve laughs and blows a kiss to the screen. There's message after message telling Steve to _strip_, telling him he's _beautiful_, telling him they want to _see all of him_.

"Alright, alright," Steve waves a hand, but he's still grinning. "You know, _usually_ I'd make you buy me dinner first."

But he's backing up so they can all see. So they can watch as he starts pushing his pants down, slow, like a tease. He's bobbing his head a little to the song, swaying a little, and then he's stepping out of his pants and standing there in nothing but dark blue boxerbriefs.

He's already half hard. Billy can tell, just from the way the outline of his cock presses against the material.

Billy's breath catches when Steve bites at his lower lip, like he's suddenly shy, and he palms himself. Pumping over his dick without reaching past the material. Then, he does a slow turn, and all Billy can think about is peeling his underwear down over that perfect ass and bending him over. Steve glances over his shoulder, smiling like he _knows_, and hooks his fingers into the waistband, pulling his underwear down _just enough_ to get a few small tips pouring in.

"Looks like _everyone_ is happy to see me," he says, and then he's facing them, fully erect, the head of his cock peeking out of the waistband.

Billy's already rock hard, eyes glued to the screen. He thumbs over his head, smearing the precome gathering there until he's glossy, wet.

“Fuck yeah,” Billy breathes out, as he watches Steve palm himself again.

The chat is flooded again. Billy's surprised no one has bought Steve up for the night, yet.

Maybe he shouldn't be. It seems like Steve is happy to give them a show, anyway, and his audience seems to know that.

"So, today is kind of a special occasion for me," Steve says, voice already breathy as his hand moves over himself, the other drifting up his stomach, the muscles flexing under his skin. "And I thought I might do something special for you to celebrate."

Billy’s desperate to know.

Luckily, so is the _entire chat_.

Questions come flooding in, which is _cute_. Clearly these people aren’t just fan’s of _KingSteve’s _body, they’re fans of his shining personality. And Billy can’t blame them -- that’s what has him hooked, now. Just like all these other suckers.

Billy wants to know. But he isn’t going to deign to _ask_.

Instead, he tips _another_ $20, and sends one single emoji: the party-popper one.

Steve pauses long enough to read the chats coming through, though his hand doesn't stop its idle motion. He laughs a little, cheek dimpling.

"You're not far off, _Hurricane_." Steve says. "It's my birthday. Which is why I'm on in the middle of the day-- I've got plans tonight."

Another influx of tips come through. A few people ask if Steve's _legal_, now.

Steve laughs. "I've been legal for a _while_, you perverse little shits. Jesus, get outta here with that."

The amazing thing, though, is that none of them leave. None of them are even a little offended.

"But the point is," Steve says. "Is that I bought myself a little present. Do you wanna see?"

The chat goes ballistic with _yes_’s. The sound of coins dropping into a bucket signals that the tips have started to roll in.

Billy kind of wants to buy _KingSteve _out. Wants to take him away from everyone else.

He debates it. Heavily.

The song changes over in Steve's room. He must have left it on shuffle after adding _Rock You like a Hurricane_ because the tone is _completely_ different. Some low beat; sultry and slow.

Steve's dragging down his underwear and stepping out of them. His cock bobs free, already slick at the tip. He pumps his fist over it a few times and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he says, and then turns back around and braces a hand on the edge of the bed as he bends over to let them see the plug nestled inside of him.

That’s it.

Billy _breaks_. His cock throbs in his hand and he slams his hand down on the _buy private_ button. He confirms when the site asks if he’s _sure_ he wants to pay $200 to go private with _KingSteve_, like that’s some sort of _actual question_, and then he’s in. The screen switches and Billy’s left with a larger video screen of just _Steve_, and a little chat box they can share.

On the screen, Steve straightens out and frowns over his shoulder when the sound of a doorbell goes off.

"That was quick," he mutters and then he's flashing a smile as he pads over, closer to the camera. "Sorry, guys. Guess someone wants to celebrate with me alone. Catch you next time."

Billy hears the sound of a mouse clicking, and then Steve's dragging that plush chair from the first time over and settling in it with a crooked little grin and a soft intake of breath-- the plug probably shifting inside of him. There's a little wrinkle between his brows and a tilt to his head; curiosity blatant on his face.

"Hey, there," he says. "Don't think anyone's ever bought me so fast, _Hurricane_."

Billy smirks. For a moment, he fears he’s being watched, but he remembers that he doesn’t have his webcam turned on, _and_ he has a little piece of tape stuck over it. It’s just weird, is all -- Steve, talking to him like they’re facetiming or skyping -- but Billy being just a black screen to Steve.

Summoning some willpower, Billy gets his hand off his dick and types:

_ **what can i say, i’m a sucker for a pretty face** _

Steve's cheeks flood with a little color, like he's genuinely flattered, but he plays it up with a bat of his lashes.

"Oh, you think I'm pretty?" Steve asks. "I'd return the compliment, but I'm guessing you're shy."

_ **i wouldn’t want to distract you from celebrating** _

God, but _KingSteve _is cute as fuck. He knows he’s hot shit, but he’s still affected by a compliment from a stranger online. Even if it is all a show, it’s a good one, and Billy appreciates the effort.

_**you going to show me your new toy again, baby?**_ Billy asks. _**or am i gonna have to ask nicely?**_

Steve huffs a little, mouth curving up, _amused. _"I mean, saying please never hurt anybody."

Normally, Billy is the one who makes people beg. It doesn't feel so bad to be on the other side of it, though. Not when it's _KingSteve_, not when it's for someone so _hot_.

_ **pretty please?** _

Steve's smile goes wide. "Sure thing, babe."

He twists over on the chair without another word, without any teasing. Gives Billy _exactly_ what he wants, knees spread on the seat, bent over, and reaching back to spread himself-- letting Billy see the red base of the toy, the rest pressed inside of him.

_**shit that's hot**_, Billy types, one handed.

His other hand is back on his cock, stroking over it slowly as he watches Steve sway a little back and forth on the screen.

Billy doesn't know _how_ this works. He's never cared enough to buy a private show with anyone before. But he's never going to fess up to that. Billy always does his best work when he's pressed for it.

_ **give that a little tug for me, baby. pretty please. ** _

Steve laughs a little as he rests forward. "You don't play around, do you, killer?"

His fingers grip the base of the toy and he _pulls_\-- steady but light-- so that Billy can see the way the thick end of it stretches Steve out a little. He's tight, clenching down, Billy can tell, and he moans at the same time that Steve does.

It's so fucking hot, Billy feels warm all over. There's something intimate about this, about Steve putting on a show just for _him_. Teasing himself, just for Billy.

_ **just like that. you gonna touch yourself too, or do i gotta do all the work?** _

"Jesus," Steve breathes.

But as he pulls and presses at the base of the plug, hips rocking back a little, he reaches over to get lube on his hand somewhere off screen and then dips it between his legs and starts pumping. Stroking steadily but not quickly, already letting out these lovely, breathless sounds.

Billy groans with it, unashamed to be loud in the privacy of his own place. No one is here to hear him -- not even Steve, though there's heat to the idea of Steve being able to hear him, even with how loud he's being.

_**such pretty noises,**_ Billy tells him. _**are they all for me, pretty boy?**_

Steve moans, his head hanging forward a little, his skin growing flush. "Uh huh," he breathes, twisting the base of the toy and shuddering. "All for you, baby."

Billy knows it's a line. But his dick doesn't.

_ **fuck yourself with it baby, pretty please. ** _

He wants to see Steve's hole stretched wide, wants to imagine its on his own dick. He wants to see Steve’s ass swallow that toy up, eager and ready, warm and hungry.

He hears Steve curse. Hears him groan.

Then, he's shifting his grip. Pulling until the bulbous end of the plug is stretching his rim, slick and pink, and his feet kick up a little as it slides free. Steve makes the best sound when it does, the tapered length easing out of him as his toes curl-- and then he's shoving it back in with a little cry.

"Oh, fuck _me_," Steve says, and then he's doing it again.

It's a slow start, but Billy understands _why_. The plug is pretty long for what it is, and the base is _thick_. It must burn a little when he pulls it free and presses it in, spreading him wide each time.

Billy wants to tell Steve that he'd fuck him better. But even Billy knows where the line between flirt and _creep_ is. And he's sure Steve gets a hundred of those a day. Billy doesn't want to be one of those hundred creeps -- he wants to be something _special. _

_**what a pretty picture,**_ Billy taps out.

He slicks up his own dick with lube, just because he can, not that he needs it to be any better than it already is. Watching Steve fuck himself so slowly on this toy? Yeah, it's hot fucking shit. Billy feels honored to get to see it.

Steve's laugh is low and rough. "Careful, killer. You keep calling me pretty and I'll start to think you wanna fuck me."

But he's picking up the pace a little. His body adjusting, so goddamn _well_, to the toy he's got moving in and out of him.

Steve's hand gets a little faster on his cock. Billy can hear the slick sound of it. The obscene slide of skin on skin and of the plug fucking in and out of Steve's ass. It's so goddamn _hot_.

What's hotter, though, is the way Steve's rocking with it. Hips rolling back to meet the inward thrust. The way his mouth falls open as he pants, breath tinged with sweet little keens and whines.

"Bet you'd feel so good in me," Steve says, on a gasp. "Bet you'd fuck me better than this, wouldn't you, baby?"

_ **course i would, how is that even a question?** _

Basically, Billy thinks, Steve is his dream guy. He’s pretty, he's _hot_, he's cute as shit, and he's got a mouth on him that could get him into so much trouble.

Billy pumps his cock. He thinks about those pretty lips sliding over the head of it. He thinks about pushing Steve down in that chair, easing that plug out of him, and licking into him. Billy _wants_, so badly that it burns him up inside.

Steve's moaning. Billy can see the way his thighs are trembling, the way his toes are curling up. He's panting, bucking into his own fist, making the best sounds.

"Fuck, I'm close," he says.

Billy feels the rush of it, too. Building, building, hot and electric underneath the surface of his skin. He needs it, but he needs Steve to get off, too. Wants to help him get there.

_ **come for me, baby. wanna hear how pretty you are when you lose yourself for me. pretty please?** _

Steve's voice pitches blissfully high. Breathless as his entire body tightens up. He pumps over himself desperately, pressing the toy into himself, riding back. Billy can see how bad he wants to come. How goddamn close he is.

And then he's spilling out. He's bucking sharply and crying out as his spine curves down and he slams the toy into himself.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_\--" he's gasping.

Billy imagines how tight Steve gets, imagines that hole fluttering and clenching around him as Steve sings out so pretty from his lap.

He spills into his hand with a low, broken groan, coming so hard he sees stars.

It takes him a second to catch his breath, but he wipes his hand off with a tissue and hisses at how sensitive he is, how wrung out he feels just from _this_. It's a testament to how hot Steve is, that he can get to Billy like this.

Billy reaches for the keyboard as Steve's still panting on screen and collecting himself.

_ **was it as good for you as it was for me, baby?** _

Steve's slumped in his chair, breathing heavy. He gives a dopey grin and a _thumbs up_. Like a _dweeb. _

He fumbles over to the side and there's a rustle of fabric and then he's got a towel that he lays down under him. He relaxes back in the chair, legs sprawled, groaning as he puts weight back on the toy still inside of him. He's covered in sweat and come.

"That was great, baby." Steve says, words lazy. "I'm _dizzy_."

Billy knows that it's mostly for show, the way Steve talks. The way he plays it all up. But that doesn't mean Billy doesn't eat it up anyway.

Billy grins, despite himself.

_ **thanks a bunch, pretty boy. love your new toy. ** _

Steve goes red in the face, again, and grins so wide his eyes wrinkle at the corners. "Yeah, me too. Especially after that. Thanks for a good time, killer."

Billy tips another twenty, because he's got the cash to blow, leaves a kissing-face emoji in the chat, and then he closes the window.

He's not about to linger around after an orgasm to make the whole situation _worse_. He's already got it bad enough.

\--

Billy misses _KingSteve’s_ next stream because he's at a shoot for some cologne that has him kneeling in the ocean, sand grinding into his knees.

He misses the one after that because he's meeting with some international agent, and trying hard not to sneak looks at his phone when he feels the buzz of a new alert.

He misses the one after _that_ because he's asleep, passed out cold on his couch after too many vodka tonics after a long, long week.

So, when Billy gets the alert that _KingSteve_ is streaming again when he's at home, he drops literally everything just to tune in. He hangs up the call with his manager, turns _off_ his phones, and grabs his laptop and settles down on the couch.

It's morning, which is kind of an odd time to stream, but there's a surprising amount of people already in the chat. He guesses they're probably in different timezones, because who would be jacking off at 9am?

Other than him, anyway.

Steve's not on screen when it pulls up. There's no music, but there is the sound of shuffling, off to the side. There’s light bleeding in through the curtains over the windows, painting Steve’s room in gold. He’s got the window propped open, a breeze rolling through, and when he pads into frame he’s in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that’s too big on him.

He’s got a cup of coffee in hand and a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he says, settling into his chair, legs crossing underneath him. “My AC is out. So, I’m officially dying.”

The chat fills with sad faces, dripping emojis, and flames. Billy wants to send a heart, but he doesn't. He's a little too shook by how sleepy Steve looks, sweaty and like he just rolled out of bed. Billy wants to take him and press him back down into the covers, wants to curl up with him and go back to sleep.

He tips $20 and sends a single message to the group chat:

_ **get it fixed then u doofus** _

Steve laughs, cradling his coffee close to his chest. "I already have someone coming this afternoon. But between _noon _and _6pm_ isn't all that reassuring."

Then, he's taking a sip of coffee, and setting his cup down. He pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it aside, fanning himself with a hand.

"But _fuck_ it's hot," Steve says. "This heat wave is killing me."

_**drink iced coffee**_, Billy supplies.

He wants to savor Steve like this. Sure, he's already palming himself, turned on by the sheer thought of Steve and now all that _skin_ \-- but still. He _wants_ this. More of this. And that's dangerous, he thinks.

What's worse is that Billy's pretty sure there's a heatwave where he is, too. And that sends a _thrill_ through him, right to his gut, at the thought that Steve _could be_ close. He could live across town or even down the fucking street.

But Steve's shifting in his seat, uncurling his legs, and he's hard in his boxers. Billy's focus quickly narrows in on that as Steve palms himself, hips arching toward his touch.

"Well, I figured I'd work some of the heat off with you guys."

There's a chorus of _thank you'_s from the chat. As a whole, _KingSteve's_ viewers seem rather nice, though the chat occasionally gets kind of crude. People calling Steve _slut_ or _whore_ or any other equally demeaning thing.

Billy pulls himself out of his briefs and tugs himself to full hardness -- it doesn't take long at all.

"You guys like that idea?" Steve grins.

A trickle of tips come in and Steve hums as he trails his hands over the bare skin of his chest and his stomach. He stretches, idle, putting on a show.

"But how will I cool down?" he asks.

_**ice ice baby**_, Billy types out, while there's a chorus of people begging _KingSteve _to heat things up.

Steve pauses, squinting at the screen. He still looks sleepy, like maybe reading is still a little too hard, but then he bursts into laughter.

His head falls back and he holds his stomach as he does. Bright. _Genuine. _

"Hold on," he wheezes a little, still chuckling, climbing out of the chair. "I'll be right back."

Billy grins to himself, feeling pleased -- but more importantly, _noticed_.

When Steve comes back into screen, holding a bowl of _ice_, someone in the chat shouts BLATANT FAVORITISM.

Billy fucking _cackles_.

"Well, if any of you had good ideas, maybe I'd give you a little love, too." Steve says, prim as can be, and then he's sitting down and plucking up an ice cube-- holding it in his hand until it starts to melt a little in his palm, water running down his wrist.

He tilts his head over, baring his neck, and presses the ice there. He hisses, eyes falling shut, and drags the ice cube down the line of his neck, across his collar bone, dipping it into the hollow of his throat as he swallows thick.

Billy wants to trace that line with his tongue.

"Fuck, that's perfect," Steve says.

Billy swallows, too.

He tips his usual $20, because he can. As a _thank you_, without saying anything.

He debates going private, but there's something thrilling about sharing this, about lording it over all of these suckers that Steve chose _his_ idea.

Steve shudders as he pulls the ice across his skin. He spreads his legs, so they can see how hard he already is without seeing his cock. So they can watch as it kicks a little when Steve drags the ice cube over one of his nipples. So they can watch as he squirms while teasing himself.

Billy wants to chase that trial of wetness with his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue.

He breathes out a curse and gets his cock back in his hand, jerking off lazily as he watches Steve tease his nipples to full hardess, until they're red and angry looking, so _cold. _

He imagines how Steve would react to the contrast-- to feel the burning heat of Billy's mouth on him afterward. If he would whine and arch. If he would clutch at Billy or try to get away.

On the screen, Steve's wiggling out of his boxers, kicking them away gracelessly. He reaches into the bowl and grabs another ice cube.

"I've never actually tried this," he admits, sort of rueful, and then he's grasping the base of his dick with one hand and trailing the ice cube up his length with the other.

He spasms, head falling back, eyes wide and mouth open as he gasps. His cock weeps from the tip.

"Oh, shit, that's--" his voice _cracks. _

Billy’s cock jerks in his fist. The sound of Steve's pleasure has heat racing through him -- what _was_ once lazy jerking off quickly dissolves into something way more heated, way more urgent. Billy feels caught by it, like the tide -- unable to stop.

Steve's knees draw in, like he's trying to shy away from his own touch. He swirls the ice cube around the head of his cock and breathes out a long, _sweet _whine. Trembles a little. Bucks.

There's sweat rolling down his temple. He stares down at his lap, at his own cock, wrapped up in his own pleasure. His own sensation. Like he's forgotten he's on camera.

It feels more intimate, somehow. More _intense_. Especially with the way his eyes grow darker and he takes another ice cube into his hand so that when he fists his cock, there's multiple points of sensation. His free hand flies to the armrest and clutches at it. He fucks up into his own hand, mouth hanging open, breath growing short.

It doesn't take much. Just another high, keening moan from Steve, and Billy's coming all over his fist. It's a shock, just how fast it snuck up on him, how easily the sounds of Steve's pleasure get to him, but -- _jesus_ it was good.

Billy takes a second to breathe, wiping his hand off with his dirty shirt, and just zones out on the screen.

He can't bring himself to close the window, can't bring himself to tear his eyes away from Steve.

Not with the way his face twists up. Not with how he keeps making those desperate sounds. Not with the way he squirms, like it's all _too much_.

It probably is. Probably has Steve feeling overstimulated already-- with the heat of his hand and the ice dragging over his skin.

"_Fuck_," Steve hisses. "Fucking _christ_\--"

He's focused on himself. On his own body's reactions. Totally and completely. It's like watching someone without them knowing.

Billy wants desperately to be the one teasing him. Wants to be the one to coax him so gently through his orgasm, bringing him over the edge. Wants, like he's never wanted anything before, to be the one to wrap him up afterwards and hold him through the shuddering quakes.

Shit, he thinks, as Steve makes another keening noise through Billy's computer speakers. This really _is_ bad.

\--

Things slow down a little after that. He’s got a show coming up-- though he’s not usually on the runway, he was selected by the hottest new designer to rep a new suit-- but it’s local. It doesn’t require much more than upkeep and a rehearsal.

He gets to watch a few more of Steve’s shows. He hates to admit it might be obsessive, but he watches whenever he sees that Steve is on. Even if he’s just idle with it.

He gets a weird notification that wakes him up out of a dead sleep on a Monday. He'd taken the day off before, not feeling well, and now, he's pretty sure he feels _worse. _Head foggy, mouth dry, brain absolutely gone. It's the middle of the afternoon, and he's slept _all day_.

The notification says something like _bidding war_ and Billy doesn't care what that means, he just pulls up his laptop, wraps himself up in his duvet, and clicks into Steve's room.

He feels crummy, and feverish, and all he can figure is that, judging by the words on the screen, bidding for Steve’s _time_ this afternoon is all the way up at $350. $350 and climbing.

That's kinda _steep_.

Billy's got _no idea_ what it is that's happening. Just that it says Steve's up for _sale_, tonight. That the winner gets the _whole night_ with almost _no limits. _

It seems kind of like a dream.

It might actually be one, with the way Billy's head is swimming.

Billy bids $370, then $395, keeping up with the bets as they come. It hits $450, before it starts to slow down. Billy, annoyed and feverish and honestly so _tired_, puts down $700 and the offers stop coming.

There's a countdown. About two minutes remaining. Nothing else comes in.

His screen explodes with little digital confetti poppers once it hits _zero_. Billy slumps back in his bed, bundling the blanket around him. A little screen pops up-- it asks him "_do you have any special requests, this evening?"_

There's a checklist. Kinks and fetishes. _Clothing _options.

It's all a little much.

Billy just sighs, head swimming and aching and types: _**dealer’s choice. surprise me. **_

It's stupid. But he can't think of anything better. He just wants to see Steve's face -- he feels _so_ shitty, he just wants something bright to look at.

Once he submits his _special requests_, the screen shifts. It says _KingSteve will be with you momentarily. _Probably to give the performer time to set up if he needs.

But there is no waiting for Billy. Steve is just _there. _Sitting in his chair, staring at the camera.

"Dealer's _choice_?" he asks. "You paid _700 dollars." _

He sounds skeptical. Like his time being worth that much is _absurd_.

Billy grunts. He pulls the duvet a little more tightly around himself.

_**i'm into the surprise**_, he types, and hopes that lands.

Honestly, it's kind of nice just seeing Steve's face.

Steve's nose scrunches up. He tilts his head, brows furrowing, but he nods.

"Okay," Steve says, a little slow. "Want me to get started?"

_**obviously**_, Billy types out. _**want to watch you. **_

He knows he's not up to his usual muster but he can't really bring himself to _care_. He slumps sideways on the bed and keeps his eyes on Steve's face. His floppy hair. His beautiful eyes.

"Right," Steve says, blushing a second. "Stupid question."

Then, he's holding up a finger, telling Billy to _give him a second_, and he's walking off screen. The sad thing is, Billy _misses_ him when he's gone.

When he comes back, it's with a towel, a bottle of lube, and a long, curved toy. It's black and a little intimidating to look at-- mostly because there's a ring on one end that Billy knows is going to go around Steve's cock.

"Dealer's choice, right?" He asks, stripping down. "You get to decide when I come. How's that sound?"

Billy blinks. He's a little dizzied by all that skin. He _wants_, but in a passive way. There's nothing more amazing than being in a private chat with _KingSteve_, where Billy has full reign, and right now, Billy's wasting it, not even _interested_ in touching his cock. He just wants to look at Steve's face.

He sends a thumbs up emoji.

Steve's face does something funny when he sees it. He fidgets, which is unusual, but then he's shifting and prepping toy with an obscene amount of lube.

He stands, propping a foot up on the seat of the chair where he laid the towel and bracing a hand on the back of it as he bends over. There's no ceremony, no build up, just Steve working the curved toy into himself with soft little huffs and hitches-- like Billy isn't even there.

_**shit yeah**_, Billy types out.

He _wants_ to watch the toy, because there’s nothing more that he loves than too much lube -- and that’s coupled with the fact that that _too much lube_ is now sliding into _KingSteve_. But. _But_. Billy’s eyes drift to Steve’s face, to the softness of his hair, to the way his eyelashes rest on his cheeks. He’s just so _pretty_. Billy can’t get enough of his face.

He zones like that for a while, laying sideways on his bed, duvet pillowed around him, just watching the way Steve’s lips twitch, the way his eyelids flutter.

By the time his focus draws back to what Steve’s actually _doing_, Steve has the toy nestled inside of him and he’s fastening the ring around his shaft, low, behind his sac. He’s hard already, and flush. His lower lip is red from biting into it.

He settles on the chair, breath catching, lashes fluttering and he grips at the armrests for a couple of seconds before grabbing something off the desk.

“It’s got a bunch of settings,” Steve tells him. “It should keep me from coming, until I release the ring. But it’s a prostate massager, so there’s always a good chance I’ll orgasm without ejaculating anyway.”

He waggles the remote for him, like an enticement.

“There’s speeds and different cadences,” Steve says. “Where do you want me to start, baby?”

Billy is -- half paying attention.

Steve’s voice floats in through one ear and out the other.

All Billy wants to do is pull him in under the blanket with him and curl up with him, warm and content. He wants to press his face into the crevice of Steve’s neck, wants to breathe him in.

Idly, and belatedly, he realizes Steve is waiting for him.

_**ur so hot**_, Billy types, one-handed, curling a bit more into feathery softness.

Steve frowns. He stares, for a long second, at what must be his computer monitor.

Then, he huffs and sets the remote down.

“Okay, _look_,” Steve says, crossing his arms and bringing his knees up, like he’s suddenly conscious of how naked he is. “I’m not _dumb_. You just paid a _lot _of money for me, but you don’t seem all that _invested_. I’m happy to refund you if you’re bored.”

_That_ gets Billy’s heart racing. He’s paying attention now.

_Fuck_, he thinks. The frown on Steve’s lips makes him feel _bad_. Worse than he already feels.

_**im sick**_, Billy types.

_ **sry i just wanted ** _

He pauses. What did he _want?_ It all happened so quickly that he wasn’t even really thinking about it, he just _went_, desperate for Steve in a feverish haze.

_ **idk ** _

Steve’s frown softens a little. He shifts in his seat, wetting his lips, and wraps his arms over his knees.

“What, you just wanted to see my pretty face?” he asks, like it’s a _joke_, and not way too _true_.

Billy’s heart thuds in his chest, loud enough to pound in his ears.

**_yeah_**, he types, too sick to play it cool, to think it’s _not_ a good idea to be truthful.

“Oh,” Steve breathes; Billy can see the line of his shoulders go a little easy, even as the tips of his ears go red. “Um. I don’t, uh… Do you have anybody there with you? To take care of you?”

_ **no i live alone** _

Billy shifts a little, cozies up even more in the blanket. He yawns. Then -- coughs.

_ **dont let me stop u if u want to keep going** _

“Yeah, but, like-- you’re not exactly in any state to _enjoy it_,” Steve says. “It’s not fun if you’re not enjoying it.”

He reaches off to the side-- there must be a table there, Billy’s seen him reach over enough in his streams to grab something-- and pulls a soft looking robe toward himself. Fluffy and bright yellow. Wiggles and shifts and wraps himself up in it. Sits there, legs folded under himself like he’s in grade school, and cinches the sash at the waist.

He’s still half hard, but it seems his interest is gone, too.

“Are you staying hydrated?” Steve asks. “I live alone, too. Sometimes I forget stuff like that-- drinking enough water. Eating food.”

“Not hungry,” Billy says.

When Steve doesn’t reply, he groans. He doesn’t _want_ to type, he just wants to talk. He wants to stretch out in bed and not move at _all_.

_ **ugh can i** _

_ **call u? voice chat?** _

Steve blinks and then nods. “Yeah, go for it. There’s a button, I think, in the top right of the chat box.”

Billy hits it.

His heart pounds. He’s _nervous_, more so than he ever has been for any casting or calls or _anything_. But he’s sick, too. So he cares less. He just doesn’t want to be alone.

“Not really hungry,” he says. “Also -- hey.”

He curls up, a tight S-curve on the bed, so much better now that he can just relax.

“Hey, there, killer.” Steve smiles a little, tucking back into his chair. “You sound good. Congested. But good.”

Billy huffs out a laugh. “My head feels like a fucking balloon.”

He keeps his eyes on Steve and that soft robe, even though occasionally they drift closed, tired.

Steve makes a soft, consolatory noise, resting his chin on the tops of his knees. “That sucks. Have you taken anything? Tea? I hear tea is good.”

“Donno,” Billy says. He coughs. “Just came home yesterday and fell asleep. Just woke up, basically.”

“Poor thing,” Steve says, half sympathetic, half teasing. “Sounds like you need someone to nurse you back to health. You have anyone you can call?”

Billy wants to laugh -- but he coughs instead. He’s got no one to call, except for his manager. Sure, his sister lives in the area, and they get lunch sometimes, but they’re not close enough that Billy can call her when he’s _sick_.

“I called you, didn’t I? Nurse Steve.”

“Yeah, but I can’t bring you water or wipe the sweat off your brow,” Steve grins, crooked, _pleased_. “All I can do is talk to you. Or get off. Or both. It’s really not helpful when you’re sick, as a general rule.”

Billy hums. “Talking’s good. Makes me feel better.”

Which -- it _does_. He feels better than he did when he woke up. Less lonely, less adrift.

“Well, what do you want me to talk about, then?” Steve asks. “Want me to tell you my favorite color?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, shifting the blankets, eyes zoning out on Steve’s face. “Favorite color, favorite book, favorite store. Talk to me, pretty boy.”

Steve laughs a little. “Blue. I like blue. And I don’t read all the much-- if you couldn’t tell by my choice of livelihood, I’m not exactly a paragon of education. But I like poetry, sometimes. And I like short stories. My attention span is too garbage for novels.”

He fidgets with the end of the sash at his waist. Picks at it a little.

“I don’t think I have a favorite store,” he adds, a little soft. “But I walk around Walmart and Target a lot, at night. People watching.”

Billy wonders, idly, if Steve’s ever seen a picture of him at a store. If his eyes have ever glanced across a poster or a billboard or sign that Billy has been splayed across.

He hums. “People watching’s the best. Especially late at night. You ever been to a laundromat at, like 3 am?”

Billy doesn’t have to go laundromats anymore, but he wasn’t always so well off. His career wasn’t always so lucrative.

“A few times, yeah.” Steve laughs again. “But my apartment complex has its own, now. Makes life a little easier.”

“Yeah, schlepping your laundry around sucks,” Billy says. He yawns. “Don’t gotta do that anymore.”

“Ah, but you used to,” Steve says. “What about you? What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Billy says after a little while. Not because he’s thinking, but because he’s _tired_. Half asleep. Comfortable with Steve here. “Makes my eyes pop.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks. “What color are your eyes, killer?”

Steve’s totally relaxed in frame. He’s got his elbow on the armrest, his cheek against his knuckles, his feet tucked up under himself.

Even his smile seems easy. Soft. A little kind and maybe a little coaxing.

He looks _pretty_, sitting there in his dumb fluffy robe. His hair a mess. His dark eyes big; focused.

“Killer?” Steve asks. He peers at the screen, like maybe he can see Billy, like maybe he’s concerned that Billy fell asleep.

“Oh,” Billy says. He zoned a little bit, there. “My eyes, they’re blue.”

“That’s a good color,” Steve tells him. “I bet they’re nice. You sound tired, baby.”

“Yeah, but I’m talkin’ to a real pretty guy,” Billy murmurs into his blanket.

Steve’s smile is bright when he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, but you’re _sick_, killer. You should rest.”

He hesitates a second. Billy watches, thought plain on his face, even if Billy doesn’t know exactly _what _he’s thinking.

“Do you want me to read to you?” he asks. “It might help.”

Billy hums out a happy noise, a smile on his face that he knows translates to sound. “Gonna read me poetry, baby?”

Steve flusters; it’s so unlike when he’s giving a show. It’s so raw, talking to him like this.

Later, Billy will hate himself for not being in his right mind enough to take advantage.

“I mean, if you want me to,” Steve says. “I have a few different poets sitting around here.”

Billy nods. Then, when he realizes Steve _can't _see him, he says “Please.”

He doesn't know when he falls asleep. He just knows that Steve’s voice is steady, soft, _kind_\-- words left ringing in his head-- _tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us-- _as he drifts there. He just knows that when he wakes up, the video screen is blank, his laptop battery is at 50%, and there's a message from Steve waiting for him.

“_**Sleep well, killer.**_”

\--

The next time Billy logs in to see Steve he’s thankfully not _sick_.

It’s been a week, though. Of being busy and missing notifications. Steve streams almost daily-- on Saturday, he even pops on a _couple_ of times-- and Billy’s reminded that this is Steve’s _job_. That he gets paid to be pretty and touch himself on screen for greedy eyes. That _Billy _has paid him for it.

It sets something uncomfortable and green rolling in his belly. He wonders how many times Steve’s been _bought_ for the night since he last talked to him, feverish and dizzy, Steve reading to him until he fell asleep.

But it’s Tuesday when Billy gets the next notification that he can log in for. He settles at his desk, instead of on his bed, and opens up his laptop. His fingers tremble a little. He’s _excited_.

When Steve’s screen comes up, though, Steve looks _tired_. He’s hunkered in his chair, not saying anything, and Billy can hear some indie shit playing under the sound of Steve’s fingers flying over the keyboard and the clicking of a mouse.

“Sorry, guys,” Steve says, with a brittle grin. “Narrowing my restrictions tonight. I’ll open ‘em back up… some other time.”

Billy doesn’t really know what he means until he sees people in the chat getting _banned_. Getting _booted_.

Billy doesn't know what to _do_. Or what to say. He just sits and watches it all go down. Watches the room clear out and the chat slow to a chatter as Steve works.

When he’s done, he sits back and sighs. Drags a hand over his face. Smiles for the camera.

Billy feels it like a punch to the gut. How fucking _fake _it is.

“Well, now that that’s done,” Steve says. “How is everyone, tonight?”

Yeah, Billy's not standing for it. He hits the “_go private_” button as fast as he can, shelling out to have Steve to himself for the next hour. A doorbell rings. The chat explodes. The screen goes blank.

He's not hard, he doesn't want something freaky. He just wants Steve to stop having to smile like that.

As the window consumes his entire screen, Steve sits there, brows up and head tilted. He says his usual goodbyes, clicks something, and then his focus is all on _Billy_.

“Hey, killer,” he says, bringing a knee up to his chest and draping his arms around it; he’s in a worn cotton tee and striped pajama pants; he winces a little when he moves. “What’s up?”

It hurts, a little, to see Steve like this. Billy knows he shouldn't care, but he does. He's way past the point of no return, now. Steve is pretty much the only thing he looks forward to these days, his only bright spot in days of stress and chaos.

Billy wants to say he missed Steve. He wants to say _thank you. _He also wants to ask him if he's _fine_, or even _ok_, but Billy knows he's just as much a stranger as all those assholes in the chat that Steve was banning. It wouldn't be welcome. And he doesn't want to come off as a creep.

_**i had a long day,**_ Billy says, instead. _**is it a crime to want to see a pretty face to make it all better?**_

Steve huffs a little, like a laugh that he’s too tired to fully commit to. “Not a crime. How can I make it better, baby?”

Billy wants to run his palms over Steve's arms, his back. Wants to work the tension that's so clearly evident out of him.

_ **love your voice. talk to me, baby. tell me about the best meal you had this week. ** _

Steve snorts. “That’s a new one. But uh… I went to this Korean fusion place with some friends on Sunday. Had pork belly and ate, like, _way _too much. But it was the best thing I think I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

_ **really?** _

Billy laughs.

_ **think you might wanna reconsider your dirty talk, steve. the right answer there is “cock” -- even i know that. ** _

** _unless it was really good korean fusion in which case you either need to have better sex or they need to franchise. _ **

Steve laughs outright at that, head lulling back against the back of his plush chair. “Yeah, well. Maybe both are true. They need to franchise _and_ I need to have better sex. To be totally fair, though, it’s hard to bring people over to my sex dungeon of a room. I think it intimidates them.”

_ **i think they're probably just intimidated by your pretty face but ok. ** _

Billy finds himself leaning on the desk, head in his palm, grinning like a lovesick lunatic. Steve looks better now with an actual smile, even though he still looks just as tired. Billy wishes he could do something about _that_, too. But it's not like he can request Steve take a _nap_ while Billy watches.

Steve hums. He uncurls himself-- less defensive, Billy realizes-- and props his head up on a hand, elbow on the armrest.

“I don’t think you’ve seen my impressive range of sextoys,” Steve says. “There’s shit in my house that I haven’t even _used_. People send it to my P.O. Box and, like, people are _crazy_.”

The P.O. Box is news to Billy. He wonders if it’s posted somewhere or if he needs to ask for it.

He wonders if it's healthy that he's already considering sending Steve snacks and books on poetry, and, like, fancy face masks.

_ **yeah? what's the weirdest shit you've gotten? like, so weird you threw it away immediately. ** _

“Jizz,” Steve says, without any hesitation, and then laughs. “Like, some dude straight up sent me a cup of his _jizz_. I shit you not.”

_ **wtfffffff** _

Billy isn't sure if he should laugh or gag. He settles for something in between.

_ **you deserve a medal, pretty boy. ** _

“You’re damn right I do,” he says, then sighs a little, blinking and shaking his head ruefully. “Like, at _least_ one.”

Billy doesn’t know what he’s thinking about, what he’s remembering, but it must not be _great_ because he purses his lips up and drums his fingers.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked, yet.” Steve says.

Billy already shelled out $200 just for this time. But that doesn't stop him from tipping $20 and adding a gold medal emoji to the comment of it.

_ **i paid for a private show, not to pry into somewhere i'm not welcome. ** _

** _please, steve, i'm clearly a creep, but i'm not that much of a dick. _ **

**_most of the time, anyway_**.

Steve’s eyes crease at the corners as he offers Billy his brightest smile yet.

“You can ask, if you want.” Steve says. “I don’t mind-- not if it’s you, killer. Mostly because you’re not that much of a dick.”

_ **only if you want to share. ** _

** _if it helps you can call me dr. killer. _ **

Steve _giggles_. Snorts and then straight up _giggles_. It’s the fucking cutest thing he’s ever goddamn heard.

Steve lets himself collapse over onto his side on the chair. Curls up in it, still smiling, feet dangling off the edge. He looks too tall to fit into it all the way.

“Alright, _doc_,” Steve says, cheek smooshed a little against the armrest. “You’ll see a few of the bruises anyway, once I strip down. Last night was just… rough. Not that I didn’t enjoy it at the time, but--”

Steve falters a little, like he’s not sure if he should share this part. Like he’s not sure if he should open up this much to Billy.

Billy gets it, but he _wants_ Steve to. He won’t pressure him. But he wants it.

“But you guys don’t generally stick around for _after_,” Steve shrugs. “Sometimes that’s hard to deal with alone.”

Billy's heart aches for Steve. It shouldn't -- because Steve's a _persona_, mostly. But right now he's a little more real than usual.

_**shit what a dick,**_ Billy types.

_ **the least he could've done was hang around until you're fine. told you it was good. made you drink a glass of fucking water. ** _

“My friend said the same thing,” Steve says. “It’s why I was restricting things, tonight. Can’t handle anything rough. If somebody asked me to wear a gag, I might’ve lost it.”

Steve sighs a little. He picks at a hole in the knee of his pants.

“It’s not that I don’t _like that_, sometimes, but… yeah. It was just a shitty ending to an intense night.”

_**you need a bouncer,**_ Billy says.

He thinks of the security he has with him sometimes. The security he needs more and more often now.

Just yesterday, he went to Chipotle with a fucking _hat on_ (and hats do _nothing_ for him, okay?) and tried to order, but the person in line behind him clearly recognized him and wouldn't leave him alone. When he finally gave up and retreated to the parking lot _without_ food, they fucking _followed_ him.

So much for the dream of becoming a popular model.

Whatever. The UberEats fees are worth it.

_**you should go put on something more comfortable**_, Billy says.

When Steve looks up, a little surprised, because he's wearing pajama pants and a tee. And it's kind of a weird time for Billy to ask him to put on something sexy -- but it's probably not an unheard of request for him, regardless.

_ **you look cold. bet you'd look cute in a sweatshirt. ** _

Steve stares for a long moment. "You… want me to put on a sweatshirt."

_ **did i stutter?** _

Billy chuckles and watches Steve's face to something real cute and confused.

Steve hesitates. Then, he nods a little slow and says "okay."

Climbing to his feet, he ambles out of his chair and off screen. There's the sound of hinges squeaking-- a door opening-- and then Steve's walking back, shrugging a big blue sweatshirt on with worn, gold lettering across the chest-- _UCLA _in cursive.

"Better?"

_**much**_, Billy types, even though his eyes are caught on the sweatshirt.

It would be real creepy to ask if Steve went to UCLA or goes there now. It's just that -- well, Billy's _in_ LA. Right now. And the thought that Steve could be only a couple miles away is a heady one, dizzying.

_** gonna make myself tea, you should too**_.

Steve's grinning but his brows draw together. "Is this some kind of new kink I don't know about?"

_ **totally. it's called taking care of a pretty boy you should try it some time ;)** _

Steve blinks his eyes, all comically wide. "But where will I ever find someone as pretty as me?"

_ **me, obviously, keep up baby. ** _

Billy waits to catch the smile on Steve's face before he pushes back from his desk to grab his favorite mug, some hot water and a tea bag.

When he comes back, he sets the tea down, takes a quick pic of it next to his computer, Steve's stream in the background (no Steve to be seen), and debates the merits of sending it.

When Steve comes back, though, his own mug in hand, Billy bites his lip, shares the photo to his computer, and then sends it as a file for Steve to accept.

Steve tucks his legs up, cradling a chipped and lopsided mug in one hand-- like something a kid would make in a shop or pottery class. He frowns at something, then clicks, then grins.

"Gotta say, way better than a dick pic," he says.

_ **i know, what can i say, i'm a charmer. ** _

Billy finds himself grinning, too. He doesn't even feel stupid about it, he'll save that for later.

"Careful, I'm susceptible to charm."

Billy’s gut heats. He knows_, _he _knows_ that this is what Steve does for a living. He's supposed to flirt and allure and get people to love him, to get people to think there's a _connection. _Lonely people who don't know any better. Billy's lonely and he _does_ know better, but that doesn't seem to help any.

He takes a long sip of his too-warm tea. It burns on the way down.

_ **is that your kink then, pretty boy? being charmed?** _

“One of them,” Steve says, a little sly, wiggling up into his seat. “But it’s pretty much my favorite, right now.”

It's a game and Billy's _losing_. Badly. But like hell if he's gonna fold.

Instead, he grins over the lip of his mug, takes another sip, and types.

_ **good thing i'm so good at it, then. ** _

“Very,” Steve says, gaze warm, as he idly sips his own tea.

They go back and forth like that for a while. Quipping back and forth, _flirting_, talking-- like it’s a _date_. Like it’s a genuine conversation. Steve’s responses come quicker, maybe a little wittier, but Billy’s grateful that he has the excuse of typing time to think about what he wants to say.

It’s a nice buffer.

Billy learns that Steve prefers black tea over herbal. He finds out that Steve’s got insomnia-- which is why he spends time people watching late at night. That Steve has an eclectic taste in music, because some weird Russian pop song comes on his playlist while they’re talking. He finds that the mug in Steve’s hand was made by a kid he used to babysit.

He learns a lot, to be honest. And Steve learns a little bit about him, too.

They’re sitting there, laughing at _something_ Steve’s just said, when an alarm goes off.

Steve blinks, lips parting, shoulders slumping. “Oh,” he says.

Billy understands why in the next second when an alert pops up, saying their hour is over.

_**thanks for indulging my kinks**_, Billy says, trying to type fast and beat the timer that's ticking down, starting to grey out his screen.

Steve smiles, a little sad and slow. “Thanks for talking to me, killer. I guess I’ll catch you another time?”

It sounds a little hopeful.

_ **obviously. you're not the only one charmed. ** _

It feels not _too_ ridiculous to say. Because obviously Billy _is_ charmed for Steve. He keeps coming back and back and _back_.

Steve’s smile turns genuine; bright.

“I’m flattered,” he says. “See you soon, killer.”

And then, unfortunately, the timer runs out.


	2. Chapter 2

Billy's next couple weeks are full of shoots in the Mediterranean. It's fucking _beautiful_, and his instagram is looking _baller_. But it also means that every time Steve is streaming, Billy is either working or sleeping. Or on another plane.

It's two weeks and some change before Billy's home. He's barely even in the front door before he gets a notification that Steve is going live.

When he logs in, the chat gripes about how _Hurricane_ is here and they probably won't get to see Steve at _all_. Seems like they haven't forgotten, despite the time.

Billy doesn’t pay them any mind, though. Because Steve’s on screen, turning slow, a _stunning_ silk robe sliding off one shoulder and cinched loose around the waist. The pattern is intricate, maybe even hand stitched, unfurling pink and gold petals on a soft blue background, two birds nestled in the branches. It makes Steve _glow_.

Billy practically drools. He wants to get his hands all over Steve. Wants to feel the way the silk would slide and glide over his perfect, mole-dotted skin.

He tips, and then puts the fire emoji into the chat. Other people react similarly, but Billy's always the big spender, it seems.

Steve comes to an easy stop in front of the camera. He’s smiling, bright, so much more vibrant than the last time Billy logged in and saw him sitting there, worn out and tired.

The right shoulder slips down more, baring Steve’s skin. He can see the dusky pink of his nipple and the ladder of his ribs. Steve slides his hands up over himself and hums.

“I see you guys like my gift,” Steve says. “Did a favor for a friend and I got this in return.”

_**must've been some favor ;)**_, Billy types.

Billy wants to press his lips to that exposed shoulder, wants to bundle Steve up in his arms and just worship him.

“Just some pictures,” Steve shrugs, winking. “I’ve been told I’m _pretty_.”

_ **shit, don't let that go to your head, pretty boy. ** _

Billy hovers his mouse over the private button, but there's something thrilling about the way he knows everyone can see the way that Steve is talking to _him_, instead of all the other people in the chat who are clamoring for Steve's attention.

“Too late,” Steve says, and then notes the scrolling demand in the chat for _pictures_. “When they’re done, maybe I’ll share. They’re pretty niche, though.”

Billy can’t help but wonder what kind of pictures they are.

But then Steve is parting the hem of the robe and propping his foot up on a chair; revealing smooth, pale skin. “I will say, though, that I had to shave my legs for it. And I have to admit, I kinda dig it.”

Steve’s completely bare under the robe. It sends a hot thrill curling in Billy’s gut.

Billy wants to run his tongue over all that skin. And, looking at the chat, he's not the only one.

He'd also love to see those pictures, but he doesn't want to _share_ them.

Billy clicks _private_, shells out another $200 on this obsession, and watches the chat devolve into cursing before his window switches over.

Steve’s laughing as he waves for the audience, blowing a kiss. “Sorry, guys. Maybe next time.”

Then, he’s leaning forward and clicking the usual button in order to switch over and give his full time and attention to Billy.

“Hey, killer,” he says. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

_ **i've been busy living it up on the mediterranean. ** _

** _you would've looked perfect there in one of those villas, in that new robe of yours. _ **

Steve lifts a brow, making a face. “The Mediterranean. Fancy. Living it up big, aren’t you, killer?”

_**i live large**_, Billy says.

He wants to spread Steve out on crisp cotton sheets, sea breeze in the air, teal waters crashing outside the open window.

_ **anyway, i hope you don't mind that i felt greedy today. you're too pretty to share. ** _

Steve’s gaze softens at the edges, _warms_, and his smile follows. He pulls his chair over and plops into it sideways, legs over the armrest. Lets the robe slip open.

He’s a goddamn _tease_.

“I’ll admit that I don’t exactly _mind_,” Steve says. “I’m kind of busy imagining you spreading me out on some bed in the Mediterranean, though. The ocean just outside the window. Your hands pushing silk up thighs, my hips…”

He plucks at the sash of the robe. Licks his lips. Grins all coy.

Steve isn’t playing _around_ today.

Heat floods to Billy's gut.

_**my hands, sure. want to touch you through that silk --**_ _**but what i really want to do is get my tongue on you. mouth you through your nice new robe. **_

He's already hard in his joggers. He doesn't even give a thought to taking them off, just slides them down, pulling out his junk to get a hand on his cock.

“And ruin this pretty silk?” Steve asks, but he’s trailing his hand down, down, _down _his chest toward his cock where it’s already starting to tent the material.

He palms himself. Arches all pretty. Lets out a shuddering breath.

_ **maybe. if i get to ruin you too, baby. ** _

Billy's breathing kicks up, heart pounding in his chest as he watches Steve palm himself.

_ **yeah, just like that. i'd make you make the prettiest noises for me, just teasing you like what with my tongue. ** _

Steve moans, legs falling open. He keeps his touch over the robe, rubbing at his cock until he’s fully hard. Until there’s a wet patch blooming over the silk, turning the blue a darker shade.

He’s already panting. Already bucking a little and making needy sounds as he rocks into his own touch.

“Would you make me come like this, killer?” Steve asks, breathless.

And yeah, okay, _that_ gets Billy groaning, shifting his hips a little so he can fuck up into his hand.

_ **you wanna ruin that pretty silk, or you wanna ruin my mouth? promise i've got the best lips for fucking. ** _

** _but i'd only let you if you begged me first. i'd only let you if you were crying for it. _ **

Steve _groans_. It’s a sinful, wicked sound. Drawn out and low; _desperate_.

His head hangs back, mouth falling open. He grinds his palm down against himself, shuddering. His toes curl. He still doesn’t reach under the silk.

“I want your mouth, baby,” Steve hisses, hips stuttering. “Fuck, _please_, I want your mouth.”

Billy moans, the sound loud in the quiet of his house. He wishes Steve were here to muffle it, to eat it up.

_ **you're not nearly desperate enough for it, baby. ** _

He watches Steve squirm, watches Steve buck up and _grind_ against his palm.

_ **just like that, you're so good for me. ** _

Steve blinks blearily over at the screen. Face flush, hair a mess. He whines, rubbing himself, rocking against his hand. It’s an obscene thing to watch, Steve petting himself through his clothes, like he’s just that needy for it. Like he’s just that hard-up.

Steve’s panting, shifting, reaching up with one hand to clutch at the armrest behind his head while he ruts against the other. He writhes, so pretty, straining into his own touch.

“_Please_,” Steve says, voice a little rough, a little choked up. “Please, baby-- lemme hear you. Wanna hear you, killer.”

Billy _wants_.

But he's aware enough that he knows not to be _too_ stupid. _Too_ reckless.

He hits the voice chat button and keeps his voice at a low growl, practically a whisper. He knows he's fucked up from the plane, from _desire_. He knows better than to just _talk_ like normal.

“I'm so fucking hard for you, baby,” Billy says, fisting his cock in his hand. “But I wanna taste you. Wanna get my lips on you. You just gotta -- _fuck_ \-- you gotta want it bad enough.”

Steve moans so sweet it’s nearly a sob. His hips jerk, like just the _sound_ of Billy is enough to get him hotter. To get him whining.

“I do, baby.” Steve says, anchoring a foot on the armrest for leverage, fucking up against his palm, robe falling open more, revealing _so much skin_. “Wanna feel your mouth on me, so bad. Wanna feel _you_, killer, _please_.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks. “Well only because you asked so _nicely_, pretty boy.” He moans himself, loud and unashamed, tired and _wrecked_. “Get your hand on your cock for me. Mm. I think I'd let you fuck my throat, your fingers in my hair. Think I'd just let you _take_ me, because you've been so _good_.”

Steve uncinches his robe with a quick yank. It falls open completely, reveals his body to Billy's hungry eyes. And then he's fisting his cock in hand, pumping over it, gasping.

"Fuck, I want that," Steve says, practically slurring, hand moving fast-- slicking the way with how much precome has leaked out of the tip. "Wanna get my hands in your hair. Wanna see those blue eyes as you swallow me down."

“Yeah?” Billy asks, panting. His voice feels tight, desire climbing up his throat. “I'm getting close, baby. I'd want you looking at me as I come. Want you to look into my eyes as you come down my throat. Wanna -- ah, _shit_ \-- at the same time.”

Steve's whining. His toes are curling and his knees are drawing up. He looks at the camera-- looks at _Billy_\-- fucking into his hand.

"Do it," Steve says, rasps. "Come for me, baby, _please_. Wanna come with you, killer. Fuck, _please_\-- Wanna hear you."

Billy _had_ been waiting for Steve. But he's _weak_.

Because Steve's _asking_ him, begging him. And Billy has no other choice but to obey.

He chokes on his moan, gasping out and then _groaning_ as his orgasm washes over him. Breathing hard and heavy and loud as he pumps himself through it, eeking out every ounce and lick of pleasure as his eyes are trained on Steve on the screen.

And Steve-- Steve follows him right over the edge.

He chokes a keening "_oh, fuck_" and bucks once, twice, then spills out into his fist. Come splatters across his stomach and chest. He shudders and quakes.

Then, he laughs. Breathless and _delighted_.

"Holy _shit," _he breathes.

“Fuck,” Billy says, in absolute agreement.

His body is singing, his eyes are blurry. The whole world’s gone tilted around him, but all he can look at is Steve.

“You're _so_ fucking pretty,” Billy says, voice still rough, raw. “Let that go to your head all you want, because _shit_.”

Steve's still panting, but he smiles all sweet and hums as he slumps in the chair. "_Definitely _going to my head. _Fuck_, killer. That was… _so good_."

“_Yeah_,” Billy agrees, because it _was. _

He looks down at himself and then grunts out a laugh.

“Shit, I came all over my shirt.”

It actually paints a pretty picture. His cock is still hard, but softening slightly against his joggers. His tee is tucked up, exposing his picture perfect abs, which are streaked with come. His shirt is dotted with it, too, white fabric going darker, sticking to his skin.

He snaps a pic.

“Wanna see?” Billy asks. He's not going to send Steve something unsolicited, but. God, he wants Steve to know what he's done to Billy.

Steve pushes up a little, eyes wide, _eager. _"Fuck, yeah. Lemme see what a mess I made you, killer."

A spike of nerves jumps in Billys gut, but he sends the picture over anyway.

It's not like he _isn't _proud of his body. He goes to the gym daily. And his dick is real pretty. Not as long as Steve's, not as big, but he's got some nice girth. And he _knows_ he looks good.

Steve sweeps his legs around and leans forward, come still streaked over his skin, robe open and cock softening. He's still flush, still so damn pretty, as he focuses somewhere a little off screen, squinting.

Billy watches his lips part on a little intake of breath. Watches the tips of his ears go pink. Watches his cock give what _must be_ a painful little kick.

"Well, that's just not fair, lover." Steve says, voice rough.

Billy heats. He's not much of a blusher, but he still feels _warm. _Appreciated.

“Yeah? You like how much you wrecked me, pretty boy?”

"Uh huh," Steve mutters, lower lip catching between his teeth, flush bleeding down his neck, eyes fixed. "That's gonna fuel a lot of bad thoughts. I mean."

His gaze flutters as he sucks in a little breath. He shifts in his seat; _squirms_. All because of _Billy. _

Just for Billy.

"I mean, first the voice. Now, this?" Steve grins. "C'mon. Tell me the truth, killer. You got a butterface? You wanted for murder?"

Billy laughs, low and pleased. _Genuine_. “You _do_ call me killer,” he says.

"_Shit," _Steve says. "Knew you were too good to be true."

Billy laughs again. He wipes his hand off on his shirt, then strips his shirt off and uses it to clean up his stomach. Then, he tucks himself back into his joggers.

“What can I say, I'm just shy.” He yawns. “What, you actually video chat with people?” Billy asks.

Steve shrugs. He reaches over to the side and pulls a few wet wipes free-- cleaning himself up as he talks. "Yeah. Mostly it's a lot of dicks in my face. With shitty lighting. And not _nearly _as nice as yours."

“You just trying to butter me up, pretty boy? You don't gotta. I know my dick’s gorgeous.”

Billy watches Steve clean up and then get comfy. It's _nice_. Like they're both just relaxing in their afterglows.

Steve pulls a pillow into his lap. Tucks his feet up. Gets his robe cinched loosely again.

"Not buttering you up. Just being honest. I want that inside me," Steve says, simple, blunt. "And contrary to popular belief, I don't wanna drop to my knees for every cock I see. But I'd be happy to do it for _that_ one. I wanna fucking lick you clean."

Billy hisses out a _shit_ and he hears Steve laugh, smiling with his lips and his eyes on screen.

“You're gonna kill me, baby. Fuck, I want that so bad.”

He knows he can't _have_ it, that Steve's not _really _interested in that. But it's still nice to fantasize about, anyway.

"Yeah, me too. That's why I _said it." _Steve says.

“Have you seen _yourself_ though? I want that shit to _choke_ me,” Billy says.

Steve cackles, hugging the pillow to his chest, going easy in his chair. "_Fuck, _don't get me started, again. I'll make you talk to me in that stupid, sexy voice until I come again."

Billy cocks his head to the side. He wonders how many of Steve's customers talk about blowing him, instead of Steve blowing them. He wonders how many want to worship Steve like the god he is, instead of just fantasizing about taking him apart. Because _sure_, Billy wants to do that, too, but what he _really_ likes is the way Steve moans when he's really into it, when he's just that turned on.

“What, you wanna go _again_? All from the idea of fucking my throat?” Billy hums. “I'd let you, you know. Get on my knees between your legs and just let you grab my hair and use my face. Not something I give everyone, you know.”

He watches in satisfaction as Steve's eyes go _dark. _As his breath catches and stalls. As his fingers _flex _and then curl into his pillow.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, and his voice is shaking. "Would you let me hold you there with my cock down your throat, killer?"

Billy's breath hitches. His cock fucking twitches in his joggers.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I would,” he promises. He swallows and swallows, like he can _feel_ the way Steve would choke him, the way it would be hard to breathe.

Steve shifts. His arms pull the oversized pillow tighter to himself. He _rocks._

His eyes go kind of _glazed. _Like he's already sinking into it, this little web they're weaving with breathy words and whispered promises. Like he doesn't even realize what he's doing, just moving, restless and hungry.

Because of _Billy. _

"Bet you'd look so good," he mutters. "Bet you'd take it so well, wouldn't you, lover? You'd open up for me, let me sink in, lips wrapped around me. Would you come with me down your throat? Would you let me come on your face and lick you clean?"

Billy _should_ be embarrassed at the noise that slips from his lips, something like a guttural _whimper_, but he can't be. Because Steve can't see him, and Steve's offering to lick his face clean.

Billy's palming himself before he can even think about it. He's sensitive and spent, and yet he's still getting hard again, dripping from Steve's words.

“I want, I _want,” _Billy pants, eyes on Steve as he fucking _humps_ a pillow. “God, I want you so bad. Any way, all the ways. Wanna fuck you, want you to fuck me, too.”

Steve's knees spread and then clamp down around the pillow. Like he wants something to wrap his legs around.

He can see the way his hips are moving. The way he's _rutting_ against the pillow. It's lewd. It's _perverse. _Billy's _panting _as he _watches_.

"Want you to ride me," Steve whispers, heated, like a dark confession. "Wanna see those abs work. Wanna-- _ahh, god, _wanna split you _open. _Bet you'd be so _tight_ for me, killer."

“Yeah, _shit_,” Billy says, breathing hard as he plams himself through his pants, hips lifting up to grind against his hand. It feels good, perverse -- like he's mirroring Steve. “Wanna use that big dick of yours. Wanna fuck myself on it, wanna ride you until I'm loose and wet like a fucking bitch.”

Billy moans, breathing harder now. He feels _close_ again, which feels impossible, but. But it's _there_.

"_Oh, _fuck me, _please_\-- please, _yes_, want that, baby." Steve squeezes his eyes shut, pressing at the pillow and clutching at it, rocking in stuttering bursts, those gorgeous thighs trembling as his robe slips down his shoulders as he_ writhes_. "_Pleaseplease_, I wanna feel you come on my cock. I wanna _feel_ you. I want-- _I wanna_\--"

Steve cries out. He curls forward, bucking, muffling his voice as he bites into the top edge of the pillow as he lets out wretched, wrecked little _sobs. _

He _came_, Billy realizes. Just like _that_.

The noise goes straight to Billy's dick. He imagines riding Steve like that, like Steve's bucking up into the Billy instead of that pillow.

Frantically, as Steve’s still shuddering out the aftershocks, Billy gets his hand into his pants and tugs himself once, twice, and then he's coming all over the inside of his joggers with a truly embarrassing noise.

His vision spots out a bit. His breath goes ragged.

When he finally blinks past it, eyes hunting-- always, _always_\-- for Steve, he finds him curled around the pillow still. Finds his face buried into it as he _quakes_.

Billy feels just as wrecked as Steve looks. He wishes, pretty fucking desperately, that he could pull Steve into bed right now. Just wrap him up in warmth and comfort and heat.

“You okay there, baby?” Billy asks.

Steve shudders. His head nods and he holds up a thumb.

Carefully, very carefully, he pulls back from the pillow he’s got clutched so tight. He peers down at his lap and then his nose wrinkles up, his face _flooding_ with color. He quickly buries himself back in the pillow.

“Oh, _god_,” Billy hears him groan.

Billy can't help but _smile_. It's so fucking _cute_.

“You're so fucking cute,” he says, because he can't _not_ share that thought.

Without looking up, Steve flips him off.

Billy wants to _kiss_ him. On his red forehead. On his red ears. He heats up with it, feeling hot, feeling flush, feeling a little unmoored by it.

“I'm not kidding. That was hot shit. And you're cute as hell. Flipping me off only makes you cuter.”

Steve’s head pops up, chin resting against the pillow as he gives the camera a _filthy_ glare. His cheeks are still pink.

“Yeah, well--”

Steve startles as the alarm for their time _chirps_.

“Damn,” Billy says. He can't even stop the frown on his face. “Till next time, then, pretty boy?”

Steve frowns, worrying at his lower lip.

“Pretty boy?” Billy asks, frowning.

Without a word, Steve reaches forward and clicks on something. The timer disappears. Steve pulls his hand back, clearing his throat, eyes a little wide.

“No time limit, now.” Steve says, a little haltingly. “That, uh. That okay?”

Billy swallows. He doesn't know what this _means_, but he eats it up, greedy for it.

“What, you gonna get all upset that I call you pretty boy?” Billy asks.

Steve smiles. Slow and growing and sunshine bright.

“I mean, I wasn’t _gonna_, but now that you mention it.”

“Nope, I'm not accepting complaints right now. If you have any, you'll have to take them up with my manager,” Billy says.

And then frowns. Well. He hadn't _exactly _meant to say that, but it's not like he couldn't be _joking_ about having a manager.

Steve shakes his head. “Well, you better get me their number. I’ve got a _list_, killer.”

“Hang on,” Billy says with a laugh, “I'm sure I've got it here _somewhere _\-- oh, shit, no -- I definitely _misplaced_ that. You're just gonna have to bite your tongue, baby. Or air your grievances with me, personally.”

“Why don’t you bite my tongue _for_ me?”

Billy lets out a breath. “I fuckin’ _wish_, babe.”

“See?” Steve snaps his fingers. “Number one grievance. You’re not here, right the fuck now, so you can follow _through_.”

Billy groans. “Yeah, okay, but if it's a problem for me _too_, then you don't get to complain.”

“I _guess_,” Steve says, resting his cheek against the top of his pillow, and then his voice goes _soft_. “Were you really in the Mediterranean?”

“I was,” Billy says. “Wouldn't lie to you.” He swallows, pausing for a second, and then says. “I could send you some pics, if you wanna see. Either here, or wherever.”

He can't bring himself to say _please give me your number. I'd do anything. _

“Just…” Steve hesitates. “Talk to me? Tell me about it?”

Billy swallows down his disappointment and tries to forget about how much he _wants_ things to be different.

“Sure, yeah. I bounced around to a couple of different villas. Stayed in these like, totally picturesque little seaside towns. I drank a lot of wine, and ate a _ton_ of olives. I don't normally indulge so much, but. Top five places I've ever been, honestly.”

Steve smiles. “Where else have you been?”

“Shit, a lot of places. I travel for work. But I'm happiest anywhere with an ocean, a beach.”

"I like the ocean," Steve says. "Grew up landlocked. Took a couple trips, growing up, to like, Florida. Italy, to visit family. There's nothing like the coast of Positano."

“Shit, baby, you're perfect, huh?” Billy says. “Such a cute beach bum.”

"These days, yeah." Steve says on a laugh. "The Pacific is cold as _shit_, though."

Billy nearly chokes. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “It definitely _is.”_

Are they on the _same coast?_

"So, top five places you've been?"

“Singapore. Dublin. Panama. Cyprus. Aruba.”

Steve jerks a little, startled. "You _do _travel a lot. Damn."

“It keeps me tan and fit,” Billy says, which is half true, anyway. He _stays_ tan and fit and he travels, both because of his job.

"Fit is right," Steve huffs. "Your abs looked _photoshopped_, are you kidding?"

He shifts on screen and then wrinkles up his nose. He glances down in his lap again and groans.

"Um," he scratches at the back of his head, a cute little nervous tick Billy hasn't seen yet. "I'm gonna-- I need to clean up and maybe change before I _actually _ruin this robe. Do you… Can you give me a second?"

Billy can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought that Steve wants him to stay. “What, you think I’m gonna run away from you? Hell no, pretty boy. But I may also go change my pants. I literally -- just walked in the door from the airport. But I’ll skip the shower, just for you.”

"You can shower," Steve says, kinda quick. "Don't let me stop you from showering. I can shower, too."

“What, you wanna wait for me to shower?” Billy asks. But he doesn’t give Steve _time_ to change his mind, because he doesn’t think he could stand that possibility. “I’ll be back in ten, pretty boy. Maybe I’ll even make myself tea, too.”

He's up and gone, before Steve can reply. Rushing through his shower, scrubbing the airport off his skin. He checks his monitor on his way through his room and finds Steve gone, but the feed is still live.

He takes that as a good sign.

There's an urge to dress up. To _look nice_, but he swallows it back. Steve can't see him and he might as well be comfortable.

When he finally gets back to his desk, sweats and a tee on, mug in hand, Steve's sitting crisscross in his chair, head hidden behind a towel as he scrubs at his hair.

“Shit, don’t you clean up nice?” Billy says. He smiles, when Steve looks up, a little startled, brown eyes bright and pleased. Like he thought maybe Billy might not come back.

Steve looks so fucking cute, hair wet, face a little red. He looks real and tangible, soft in a way that he isn’t always when he’s playing it up in front of the camera.

"I'm _literally_ in my pajamas," Steve says, and he _is_\-- in an old pair of what looks like gym shorts riding up his thighs and a _stupid_ shirt with political figures playing beer pong and the words _political party _plastered over the top.

There's even a _hole _in the collar.

"Wait, sorry, I'm supposed to say some shit like _I sleep naked, baby _or _I only go to bed wearing lace panties_, aren't I?" Steve waggles his brows a little, patting the mess of his hair dry.

“No, this is way cuter,” Billy says. He _probably_ should’ve said _hotter_ \-- because _cute_ is the kind of thing you reserve for a significant other, or someone you have a crush on. _Cute_ isn’t what you call the camboy you’re way too emotionally invested in. “If it helps, I’m wearing really old sweats and an old varsity tee.”

"Varsity," Steve repeats, brow ticking up. "What'd you play?"

“Basketball,” Billy says. “Lacrosse in the spring.”

He grabs his computer and his tea, and sets himself up in bed, leaning up against the headboard, comfy pillows behind him, shoving his feet under the duvet.

"I played basketball, but we didn't have lacrosse. I swam in the spring instead." Steve says, face scrunching up. "Where'd you just go? I hear rustling."

“Swimming’s great. But we did swimming in the winter, and I was way more likely to get a scholarship for basketball than swimming, so.” Billy trails off. “I moved into bed. Or I guess -- I brought you into bed with me?”

Billy hums. Then, he shifts and grabs his phone. He moves some stuff around, sets his mug down on his bedside table, and then angles up a shot with the forward facing camera. He keeps his face out of the shot, _obviously_, but he gets the key parts: his massive, enormous bed; the computer with Steve’s video feed on it; the mug of tea; and some of Billy’s torso. It’s very instagram. Probably, because Billy’s an instagram king, so that kinda shit comes natural to him.

Then, he sends that to the chat.

"Well, that's just not _fair_," Steve says, after clicking it open. "Like, _really _not fair. That looks inviting as fuck."

“Hey, my swimsuit pics from Santorini are way more inviting, but okay.”

Mostly, he says it to detract from _just_ _how badly _he wants Steve in his bed right now. He’s sated and content, and he doesn’t want anything other than to curl up with Steve, lazy and tired, and enjoy being near him. It’s a heady thought, addictive and dizzying, and it’s _way_ more overpowering in its pull than Billy’s desire to lick down Steve’s abs. _Unfortunately. _

Lust is simple. Anything past that? Is starting to get way more complicated than what Billy’s capable of dealing with.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t really get a _choice_. He’s beginning to get the very clear picture of that, now.

"You give me yours, I'll give you mine," Steve taunts with a _dumb _little shimmy. "I lied when I said the pictures I took for my friend weren't ready."

“Are you offering a look behind the curtain? Or -- the robe, I guess?” Billy asks.

Steve snorts. "I mean, you've already _seen_ that. These are a little more _artistic_, anyway. They're supposed to go up in some gallery."

“Shit, getting _fancy,_ _KingSteve_,” Billy says. But -- honestly? He’s kind of proud. And also more than a little honored that Steve’s offering to show him.

Steve shrugs a little. He scratches at the back of his head again. His hair is still damp; Billy wonders what he smells like.

"It's not _my _show or anything," Steve says. "But it's a big deal for my friend. There's gonna be, like, a whole _event_. I'm supposed to go, but… kinda different, staring people in the face _in person_ while they look at pictures of you naked and blown up on a wall."

Well shit, that's practically what Billy does for a living.

“You're a work of art. Let people appreciate it. It'll be different in a gallery, sure, but think of it as an extension of your show. Very look but don't touch. To all of them, you'll be larger than life.”

Steve nose scrunches up but he's smiling. "Yeah, I guess. And the gallery is really cool. And there's free drinks all night. So. Guess I can't really complain."

Steve huffs. He squints at something, his monitor maybe, and his smile goes a little more wistful.

"Anyway, that bed looks _super comfy_," Steve says. "And you _have _shared more than usual, so I guess it's only fair if I give you a sneak peek."

A jpeg pops up in the chat after a few clicks from Steve's end. When Billy opens it, palms a little sweaty, a black and white photo pops up on his screen.

It's a work of contrast. Steve-- or who _must _be Steve because Billy can't see most of his face-- splayed out, belly down on a bed with sheets so dark it makes his skin appear to light up the frame. His hair is a mess on a pillow, dark strands nearly blending in. What he can see of his face seems lax, lashes fanned across his cheek. The robe is half off his shoulders and rucked up past his hips, spilling off to his right.

It's enticing. Erotic.

"Beautiful," Billy breathes.

Steve's grin is crooked and pleased. "All credit goes to the photographer."

“Okay _some_ credit goes to the photographer, but you're a fucking _model_. You're finding your light, you're using your body, you're splayed open in front of the camera. That's talent, babe.”

Steve laughs a little. "Yeah, _okay._"

He sounds doubtful. For a second, Billy doesn't know _why _and then he remembers that Steve doesn't _know him_.

He doesn't know that he does shit like that for a _living. _Doesn't know that Billy knows what he's talking about.

There's disappointment, sure, for a second. That Steve doesn't believe him.

But then Steve's yawning and tucking himself more fully into his plush chair. Smile dopey and crooked.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Steve asks.

“I have the day off,” Billy says. “I was gonna run on the beach in the morning, pick up some groceries, buy some new shirts. Maybe get a smoothie somewhere in there. Thrilling stuff.”

"Riveting," Steve says. "You live by the beach?"

Billy swallows. He wants to _know_. But he also doesn't want to give too much away. He wants Steve to be _close_, but he also doesn't want to scare him if it's _too_ close.

“West coast, best coast, baby,” Billy says.

Steve cackles, snorting a little, as he rolls his eyes. "You gotta _sun's out, guns out _tank to go with that, killer?"

“Pretty sure I did back in high school. I mean, my guns _are _pretty killer, you know. The name definitely suits.”

"I'll keep that in mind when I go to the dry cleaners tomorrow," Steve says. "Keep an eye out for any dudes with _killer_ biceps and a smoothie in hand. Maybe we'll get lucky."

“Yeah? You think you're gonna run into me, pretty boy? What would you do, if you saw a guy with killer biceps and a smoothie making eyes at you?”

"Fuck, uh…" Steve laughs a little eyes drifting up. "I like to think I'd be smooth about it, but I'm a fucking mess in reality."

Billy laughs. “Yeah, I _doubt_ that. Seriously, though. No playing or fronting. What would you do?”

Sue him, he's _curious. _

Steve shrugs a little, rubbing at his arms. He looks off to the side, teeth catching on his lower lip.

"Go up and say _hi_, I guess?" Steve says, then chuckles. "Maybe ask him where he got the smoothie because there's not one anywhere _near _my dry cleaners."

“Are you saying I should cruise dry cleaners tomorrow with _two_ smoothies, just hoping to run into you?” Billy grins and shifts in bed, getting comfortable, getting tired. “The west coast's a big place. Cali? Still huge.”

Steve's breath catches a little. He tightens up and then breathes out slow.

Billy bites the inside of his cheek. Thinks he fucked up. Thinks he pressed too much.

But then Steve's relaxing. Slowly. Carefully.

"Yeah, well, I'd say c'mon down to Burbank but it's pretty much a garbage town," Steve says, then in a ridiculous voice, "c'mon down to Burbank, where the skyline consists of _two_ Holiday Inns, and there's the United States' biggest IKEA."

Oh.

_Shit. _

What are the fucking _chances,_ Billy thinks, that Steve lives in the same goddamn metropolitan area as _Billy_.

He waits a beat too long, he knows, because Steve's looking up, narrowing his eyes, like he's thinking too much and so Billy says, “_Burbank?_ You live in _Burbank_? A pretty thing like you in a shit hole like that.”

Then, Billy swallows, and says: “It's not the _worst_ IKEA I've ever been to.”

A startled laugh bubbles up out of Steve's mouth, but he keeps his face tilted up and closes his eyes. He's got his arms around himself.

"Burbank, California: where you're never too far from a Taco Bell," Steve says, half laughing. "It's cheaper than Hollywood."

Billy snorts. “Who wants to live in Hollywood when you can live in Venice Beach?”

"I don't have any good quips about Venice Beach," Steve says and finally tilts his head back down, eyes fluttering open. "Do you?"

“The hipsters are intolerable?” Billy says with a laugh. “But maybe I am one, so who knows.”

Steve laughs, again. "C'mon down to Venice Beach, where there's at _least _one possible hipster with killer biceps and a penchant for cruising with smoothies."

Billy laughs, too. He rolls and sets his cheek against the pillow, face smashed against cotton as he talks to Steve. “Don't forget my killer abs. Just, killer body in general. It's important you don't forget that.”

"Right, how could I ever?" Steve says, resting all curled up in his chair; he yawns again.

“Maybe you should go to sleep, pretty boy. Gotta get your beauty rest.”

Steve hums, letting his cheek rest against the arm of the chair. "You saying I need to look _prettier_?"

“I think I'd _die_ if you looked prettier, but it's always worth a shot. I mean, who needs to be alive anyway, huh?”

Billy shifts again and then yawns, eyelids feeling heavy. He's so, _so_ tired. But he's not falling asleep on Steve _again. _

Steve hums, eyes half closed. "I think _you _need to get your beauty sleep."

“I'm so pretty I'd knock your _socks_ off,” Billy says, smile curling into his words.

"Uh huh, I'll believe it when I see it," Steve says. "Butterface."

Billy coughs, _offended_. “Excuse me, this face is at _minimum_ worth, like, a hundred thou.”

"Bet you've got a disproportionate nose," Steve adds with a sleepy little giggle. "And Dumbo ears."

Billy grumbles. “I'm a fucking _catch_.”

Sure, he _does_ kind of have big ears. But they're part of his _look_. They don't prevent him from booking contracts, anyway.

"Maybe with a paper bag on your head," Steve teases.

Billy snorts. “Guess you don't _have_ to look at my face to ride my dick like a toy.”

It's a little nonchalant, a little _easy_. But he realizes it might be the wrong time, now that they're just talking, now that they know they live in the _same city_.

On the screen, Steve blinks a few times. His smile goes a little tight.

"Right," he says. "I guess that's true. Should just worry about looking good for my adoring audience, huh?"

He yawns again and pushes up from his seat. Stretches a little.

"You're right, I should go to bed."

“_Hey_,” Billy says, chest feeling a little tight. He doesn't like the look in Steve's eyes, the way he immediately turned that back around on himself. He wants to fix it. Has to. “I wasn't talking about _your_ face, doofus. I don't -- give a shit what you look like. That's not -- I mean, that's obviously not why I'm here right now, talking to you when I haven't slept in, like thirty-six hours.”

Steve falters a little and then shrugs. “It’s fine. I just-- forgot for a sec.”

Billy's heart climbs into his throat. There's a little bit of joy, there, that Steve forgot -- and then the harsh fucking wall of reality slamming into him. That Billy _paid_ for this. Even if Steve extended the time for him, this feeling of companionship came at a cost.

Billy swallows.

He _wants_.

He's _tired_.

“Yeah,” he says. “Look, I just --” He lets his head fall against the pillow and groans. Frustrated. He has so much he wants to say, but he knows there's only so much he _can_. “You're great. I feel -- lucky that I got to talk to you. I always like talking to you. I -- I mean, if you ever want to forget some more or, whatever…”

Steve makes a face, breathing in slow. His smile, when he offers it, is thin. Stiff.

“Thanks, killer.” Steve says. “Forgetting is kinda risky in my line of work, though. It can lead to a lot of embarrassment on my end.”

Yeah, like Billy doesn't feel embarrassed now.

“Sure,” he says. “That makes sense. Well.”

“Right. Well.” Steve mutters, head bobbing, hand scrubbing through his hair. “Good night, killer. Get some rest.”

“Night,” Billy says.

The chat ends, fading to black, and Billy shoves his head under the pillow and tries to bite back the sour taste of his own frustration, his own embarrassment.

It doesn’t work.

\--

Billy wakes just as frustrated as when he went to sleep. There’s a notification light flashing on his phone, and he ignores it. He doesn’t want to _deal_ with whatever it is that’s popped up-- his agent or his sister or a job. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want it.

So he gets on some running shorts and some sneakers and heads out to run it off on the beach. Runs until the sky is no longer pink and his legs are screaming at him and he _still_ doesn’t feel better.

When he gets back to his house, he mixes up a protein drink in his kitchen and chugs it, still sweating as he finally checks his cell.

It’s an email. From _Sweet Secrets_. A private message sent straight to his profile.

_“**Maybe forgetting could be okay.**_”

And then, there’s a number. A phone number.

Billy has to lean against his kitchen counter just to steady himself.

It's not at all what he expected.

He still has the ocean air in his nose, and now he has hope in his head.

He'd _dumb_, he knows. Just so _stupid_ for Steve.

Which is probably not even his real name.

Billy creates a new contact anyway. Names it “King Steve” and types out a message on his personal phone.

_**hey, it's killer. but i guess you can call me billy**_.

He waits, hovers there for a hot minute to see if Steve will read it or reply or anything. He knows it’s early, that Steve might still be asleep, but then the little _read_ checkmark comes up.

Then, those three little dots that says Steve is _replying_.

_Billy. not a name i would’ve picked for you_

Billy can't help but smile.

_ **rly? pretty sure it fits a meathead like me. ** _

_Meathead is right_

_you already go for that run meathead?_

_ **you know it. early riser. also, jet lag. ** _

_right. The mediterranean. You promised me pictures._

Shit, that's right. Billy was going to send pictures. And Steve didn't want them. But -- maybe now he does.

So, Billy plops down on his couch with a glass of water with some lemon in it, and flicks through some of his best pics. He opens one of him standing in the waves, crops his _face_ out of it, like a _crazy stalker_, and sends that, along with some things he hadn't posted yet on instagram. The ocean, the buildings, even one of some seagulls. All picture perfect, but also all clearly _real_. Unedited. Unfiltered. Untuned. Even the one of him in the waves is undoctored, minus the cropping.

_ **needy, huh?** _

There's a bit of a pause. Steve obviously looking through the photos-- or maybe distracted by something else.

Either way, it takes a second before Steve's replying.

_hey, you're the one that offered. who's the hottie in the first pic? can't seem to make out his face :p_

Billy _swallows_. There's a huge lump in his throat. It's a _bad idea_. Like, the _worst_.

He wants to send a picture of his face. But.

Maybe he can cheat.

Just a little bit.

Billy takes out his phone and snaps a picture of himself, hand in front of his face, like he's face-palming, laughing at Steve. He _knows_ he's got a good smile and makes sure it shows. Then, he sends that. Sweaty hair and all.

_cheater_

Steve's reply is quick.

_I like your smile_

_ **fancy that, i like yours** _

In response, Steve sends a mirror of Billy's selfie. He's outside, the sun behind him, sunglasses shoved up into his hair and face hidden behind his palm-- smile and all.

God, Billy's heart flutters. He feels _warm_.

Billy likes this idiot so _much_.

_ **so fucking cute** _

_say that to my face_

Billy pauses. Swallows. Considers.

He _wants_.

_ **you saying what you mean, pretty boy? or what you think i wanna hear?** _

There's a long wait after that. Billy finishes his water, thinks about showering, but doesn't want to miss anything from Steve.

He checks the message again, after at least a few minutes, and knows that Steve read it. He's just not replying.

Then, finally: _maybe a bit of both _

Billy’s heart pounds. He thinks of meeting Steve, of _actually _meeting _KingSteve_. It feels like his lungs are trying to climb out of his throat, a rush of adrenaline getting his blood pounding.

_**think i’d even traipse all the way into burbank for you**_, Billy types. _**so think on it?**_

_i will_, Steve replies. _gotta run errands-- catch you later, killer_

Billy sets the phone down and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Well _shit_. Maybe, _maybe_ he’s got a chance.

\--

When Billy gets to his meeting, his manager looks at him, and tells him he looks _awful chipper_. She thinks he’s excited about the chance to rep a new line-- to be the face of it-- but Billy honestly couldn’t care any _less_.

He’s happy, he knows, because every day since their first conversation, he’s gotten to talk to Steve.

It’s been two weeks, and Billy’s texted Steve _every single day_. Billy hasn’t done that with anyone since he dated regularly. And _that_ was a long time ago.

He hasn’t broached the topic of meeting up again, because he’s _trying_ not to pressure Steve, but it’s also hard. It’s the unsaid part of every message shared between them -- the ‘_we’re in the same city_ _and so close to one another_, why can’t we just…_’_ Anyway. Billy doesn’t bring it up. And neither does Steve. Though Steve _does_ sometimes send Billy a picture of where he’s at, or what he’s doing.

That’s what he gets as he’s sitting down for the meeting, the designer sizing him up from across the table, a snapshot of where Steve’s at and what he’s doing. Quick and simple.

_i’m buying women’s underwear for someone other than myself. can you believe???_

And then there’s a familiar store front. _Luxe Lingerie_. A big window with three mannequins out front, dressed in almost nothing. He recognizes it instantly because he _just drove by it_.

It’s like, _one block_ down from Billy’s manager’s office.

He’s literally mid-way through signing this fucking contract.

“Anything important?” His manager asks him, eyeing the way Billy is staring at his phone.

“Uh,” Billy says. “No?” He looks down at his phone. Then, at the table. This is _important_. This is a career-making move. Not that Billy _needs_ it, he’s already famous -- but this would make him even bigger. It could open so many doors -- maybe even into shit like _acting_. “No, sorry.”

_**ur so clos 3 me**_, Billy types, without looking. Close enough.

_???? what??_

Billy can’t reply. He’s too busy smiling. Schmoozing. Serving out the charm.

His phone buzzes in his pocket a few times.

When he checks it again, Steve’s left a trail of messages. Billy wants to laugh. He wants to _cry_.

_are you getting off without me?? _

_that’s mean, you know. thought we were friends._

_do i need to call you and get mad?????_

_sir! sir, I have a COMPLAINT. a dire grievance. i’m being cheated out of listening to a hot guy get off bc i’m running errands for a hipster_

_...but seriously, this store is so fucking expensive, wtf. _

“Hold on,” Billy says, “I’m going to go get a fresh cup of coffee.”

He pushes his way out of the meeting room and makes his way to the kitchenette where there’s a keurig, typing on his phone as he goes.

_ **wish i was getting off. i’m in a meeting. like, one block away from that store.** _

There’s a little pause. Not much of one, but a little one.

_oh_, steve replies, then adds: _that’s really close_

Billy wants to run out of the building and sprint his way to the store. But he knows better. One, the deal is _important_. Two, Steve’s given no real indication that he _wants_ Billy to do that.

_ **yeah, it really is.** _

_how long is the meeting going to be?_

Billy’s heart pounds. _**another 45 mins probs. u around 2 meet for coffee after, or?**_

Billy waits, chewing on the corner of his thumb, staring at his phone. He hasn’t even started the keurig.

_grabbing these for a friend’s photo shoot, _the reply comes and Billy feels his heart start to sink. _I don’t think i’ll have the time_

_**fuck**_, he says, because there’s nothing he wants _more_.

_sry. maybe next time?_

_ **ur friend need any big shot models for their shoot?** _

He _knows_ he’s pressing, trying to invite himself into Steve’s plans.

_only if they can pull off lingerie at the santa monica pier. _

_why? know anyone i can hit up?_

His manager pokes her head into the kitchen, just as Billy’s filling his coffee cup, trying to figure out the merits of saying _yes_ and modeling women’s lingerie in public for one of Steve’s friends.

“We’re going out to dinner after this to seal the deal. Providence or the Parker Room?”

Billy swallows. His heart _falls_.

“Either’s good by me,” he says, and tries not to sound disappointed about it.

_**fuck. rain check, sorry baby, **_he sends, once he takes a long sip of too-warm coffee. _**want nothing more, but. work. **_

_it's fine. im sure I'll get roped into doing it for him anyway._

_ **a tragedy.** _

_I'll send you copies_

_ **if i had any, i’d send u pics of me in lingerie. maybe i’ll stop off and get a pair after this shit, just for the occasion. ** _

Steve, delightfully, sends three flaming emojis right back.

\--

When Billy gets home after a long night of wining and dining, he gets the notification that _KingSteve_ is streaming. He’s a little tipsy-- just a bit-- and he’s got a black baggy hooked on his fingers with the _Luxe Lingerie_ logo on the side.

He’s a little tipsy and a little upset, still, that he missed a chance to see Steve in _person_\-- so he’s quick to log on and click into Steve’s live video feed.

There are bags on his bed, all black and all from the same store Billy begged his way into just before they closed. Steve standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, rummaging through them, sunglasses tucked up into his hair.

“--crazy idea, I know, shooting people in lingerie at a damn amusement park, but he’s got a good eye and now I’ve got all of _this_,” Steve is saying, pulling out a strappy red thing Billy saw dangling off one of the mannequins. “So that’s _fun_.”

God. He wants to see those pictures so bad. But Steve hasn’t shown him yet.

But it gives _Billy_ a crazy idea.

He’s stripping off his own clothes, getting naked in the privacy of his own bedroom. He pulls on his new purchase -- something lacy and black -- and tucks himself into it all nicely, trying _not_ to get too hard, which only half works.

He snaps a couple pics while he stretches out across his white sheets, aiming for somewhere between artistic and sexy, and then puts them into a text on his phone that just says “_**do you check your texts while you stream?**_”

Billy debates for two seconds before sending it. He _shouldn’t_. Steve’s _working_. He probably won’t check his phone anyway.

But he gets to see Steve’s reactions in real time, if he does.

Billy clicks _send_.

Steve’s still pulling out lingerie from the bags, laughing at the ruckus from the chat, when Billy checks. And then-- then, Steve jumps as his phone goes off in his back pocket. The refrain from Foreigner’s _Hot Blooded_ loud, even through his laptop’s speakers.

Steve’s face goes pink as he fumbles out his phone, apologizing to the audience, and then unlocking his phone _anyway_.

“Holy _shit_,” Steve hisses, eyes wide, face and neck and ears all _red_.

Fuck. Billy’s dick _jumps_ in his panties.

He pulls his computer a little bit closer, spreads his legs out, and palms his cock.

“Um,” Steve huffs out a shaky little laugh. “Sorry, guys. Just a second.”

Next to him, Billy’s phone buzzes as Steve’s thumb swipes over his phone, his face twisting up, emoting like crazy. Grinning, Billy plucks up his cell to find a stream of texts.

_r u crazy???_

_you cant jsut_

_that’s not FAIR i’m working and that’s not NICe_

_ur mean and i refuse to talk to you_

Then, on the screen, Steve is turning the volume down on his phone and tossing it onto his bed to get lost somewhere in the sheets. He’s smiling at the camera, but Billy can see how _hard _he is in his pants.

“_Anyway_,” Steve says, a little pointed. “I thought you guys could vote on what I try on for you, tonight. Sound fun?”

It _does_ sound fun. And Billy would love to see. But he’s already hard in his own panties, and he wants to see Steve’s reaction. Just -- _so_ badly.

So Billy palms himself until he’s aching and dripping, and then snaps another pic. Of his dick, tucked under the waistband, head peeking out, glistening at the tip. He sends it.

Steve's holding up a bright blue set on the screen. There are tips rolling in. Lots of _red, put the red one on, baby_ in the chatbox.

Billy can hear the buzz of Steve's phone. And if he can hear it, he knows Steve's does.

Steve's shoulders draw up. He pauses, mid-word, and then stammers his way through it. He keeps glancing at his bed between playing his role for the audience.

It takes maybe another five seconds before curiosity visibly gets the better of Steve.

Billy smiles, smug and satisfied as Steve tosses tissue paper aside to dig up his phone, buried somewhere on the bed. When he pulls it out, his thumb hovers before unlocking it. Then, he's covering his mouth, but not before Billy hears him whine, soft and shocked and aroused, from the back of his throat.

Billy _laughs_, delighted. It's so fucking _cute_.

The chat explodes. Questions asking what’s on Steve’s phone, who he’s talking to, if he has a _boyfriend _or a _girlfriend_. Billy stays quiet. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t tip, just watches it all go down.

Steve doesn't say anything. Just holds up a finger and then starts texting.

_you're trying to kill me_

And then:

_wanna get on my knees for you and lick you through those stupid expensive panties, you absolute dick _

Someone in the chat asks if Steve's boyfriend will _join him_. So they can finally watch Steve get fucked.

Billy curses. He can’t even begin to imagine just how much he _wants_ that. Having Steve on his knees, licking at Billy’s dick through these panties, in front of an _audience_? God. Billy’s cock kicks against his palm, so he teases at it, grinding his hips up for more friction.

_**don’t let me distract you**_, Billy texts.

Sure, he could buy private, but now he kinda _wants_ to share the show.

Steve's throat works. He glances at the camera and takes a breath. Then he looks back at his phone.

He taps out something quick and sends it before tucking his phone in his pocket.

When Billy looks, the text reads: _you asked for this_

"Sorry," Steve says, voice a little rough, a little breathless. "My new boyfriend is being a tease."

The chat _loses it. _

_Billy_ loses it more.

His heart pounds, his face goes all hot.

Does Steve _mean_ that, or is he just trying to get a rise out of Billy? Is he just trying to rile up the chat? Because sure, Billy and Steve talk every day, about completely _mundane_ stuff, but Billy’s still literally _paid_ to see Steve get himself off. It’s -- got them on such uneven footing that Billy has no idea where he stands.

He opens the keyboard for the text.

He has _no idea_ what to type.

What to ask.

What to _say_.

Steve hasn’t even seen Billy’s _face_.

The chat is moving, filling up so fast that it's hard to read. There are questions: _Who is he? How did you meet? Will he come over? Is he as pretty as you? Will you let us watch him fuck you? _

Questions and more questions.

Steve holds up his hands. "Whoa, _whoa_, easy. I guess it's more like a _potential_ new boyfriend. We've been talking for a _while_, but he's _mean. _He teases me a lot."

Steve pouts a little. _Totally _exaggerating for the camera.

He palms himself through his jeans and groans.

"I mean, he just sent me these _filthy _photos while I'm _working_," Steve says. "And he's _watching_. How mean is that?"

Shit, does this mean Billy actually has a _chance_? It sure as hell sounds like it, from the way Steve’s talking, from how fond he’s sounding. It makes Billy go all warm, all melted inside.

He wants to tip, to make himself known, but he doesn’t. He stays quiet. Doesn’t give himself away. Instead, he just palms himself, gasping as he watches Steve’s hand work over his jeans.

The chat lights up with a gush of tips anyway. Steve's head falls back as he laughs at something someone sends his way.

"You're _right_," Steve says. "I _should _make him regret it. Any suggestions?"

“Shit,” Billy breathes out on a laugh. Fuck, tonight is gonna be _fun_.

Steve lets the chatbox fill up a bit, then he's squinting at his screen. Reading through. Smiling at a few and rolling his eyes at others.

"I _think _the general consensus is that I should fuck myself so that he knows what he's missing," Steve says, slow, staring at the camera as if he's looking right at _Billy. _"I think that's only _fair. _I mean, he _did _send me such _nice _pictures of his hard cock in a pair of panties."

The chat explodes with a litany of _share, share, share!!!_

Billy is _ruining_ his brand new underwear, with the way he’s grinding against them, smearing precome all over the lacy, black fabric.

"What do you think, _killer_?" Steve asks the camera, taking out his phone and waggling it. "Should I share?"

Fuck.

He shouldn't. But.

_God,_ he's weak for Steve.

_**yes**_, Billy types out on his phone. _**whichever one you want. **_

Steve checks it as it buzzes and then grins. Bright and wicked.

There's a pause and then the picture of Billy's hard cock, peeking out of black lace, is there in the chat for everyone to see.

"It's such a nice cock, isn't it?" Steve asks, coy and saccharine. "Bet it would feel _so good_ inside me. Bet he could just pull those panties down and _choke me _on it."

Steve's eyes are so dark. He's stripping as he talks. Pulling his shirt over his head. Working his fly open and shucking his jeans and underwear in one go, cock bobbing free.

The chat is in a frenzy, _begging_ Steve to show Billy what he's missing.

"Too bad he's not _here_, right?"

Billy _desperately_ wishes he was there. More than anything. He knows that he’s the reason Steve is so hard already, and that’s _heady_, hot. Billy wants to be the one to make him drip, the one to make him moan. He wants Steve’s mouth on his cock, wants Steve to get his brand new panties all nice and wet with spit.

He wants to tip, to text, to chat, just to tell Steve how badly he _wants_ him. But he knows better, at least for now. So he just watches as Steve strokes his hand over himself, watches as he moans, pretty and desperate, for all the chat to hear.

"But I'm so _hard_," Steve is saying, pumping his hand over his cock. "I want it so _bad_."

The chat is a mess of tips. Of people telling Steve to come for them. To let them see, to make his _new boyfriend_ jealous.

Steve laughs. “I think I have a way that could _really_ make him lose it. Wanna see?”

Billy groans. Steve _knows_ they wanna see. He’s just dragging it out because he’s _evil_.

Another shower of tips come Steve’s way. Steve smiles.

“I’ve only used it once,” Steve says, moving off screen, and there’s the sound of a door opening-- of Steve grunting-- and then he’s walking back and setting a goddamn _sex machine_ on his bed. “I came so hard, so _much_, that I nearly passed out riding it.”

It’s a Sybian. Billy recognizes it from plenty of hours surfing porn videos. It’s already got a curved attachment on it, angled just right to press right against the prostate.

Billy feels a little bit like he’s gonna lose it right now. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to come when Steve does, wants to ride it out with him.

He slides out of his panties, kicking them off to the side, just for the purpose of grabbing his own dick, to slowly stroke himself as he watches Steve set up the machine, as he watches him grab lube and start to slick himself up. He watches the camera as he does it, making the prettiest little faces, expression going loose and _pleased_ as he slides the first finger into himself.

Steve arches, rocking back against his hand, bent over with the other braced on the edge of the bed. His cock is leaking at the tip already, red and twitching as Steve starts working himself open.

He withdraws just to add more lube. Just to slide a second finger into himself, breath catching, moan welling up from his throat. Pressing back and trembling a little as he pants.

It’s glorious to watch Steve finger himself. The way his mouth falls open and his cheeks go pink. The way his eyes keep fluttering half shut and heavy. The way he rides back against his own fingers like he’s trying to get them deeper.

It’s _obscene_. It’s got Billy’s dick throbbing in his hand.

Then, Steve is slicking up his fingers again, as if he needs it. Then, he’s plying himself open with three of them, moaning out, head craning back, clutching at the sheets as slick sounds fill Billy’s room through his speakers.

There’s lube running down between Steve’s _thighs_. Billy can _see it_, how _slick_ he’s getting himself.

His mouth waters. His cock _aches_.

He wants to push Steve against that bed and just slide right into him. Wants Steve to ride him, instead of that machine. He wants, so badly, to be the one to make Steve rock against him, to be the one responsible for all of Steve’s involuntary little noises, all his little twitches.

It’s after Steve’s gone at three for a little while that the chat starts _begging_.

Billy wants to beg, too. Mostly, he’s just trying not to come in his own hand.

When a few more large tips come in, Steve finally relents. He’s breathing hard, sweat starting to glisten on his skin. He pulls his fingers free with a little whine and wipes them off on a towel before finally-- _finally_\-- climbing up onto the bed.

Steve’s focused, again. The way that he gets, sometimes, when he’s getting off. It’s less about _performance_ and more about _feeling_. It’s wonderful to watch as he straddles the toy, as he reaches behind himself, as he lowers himself down. He gasps out, head falling back, and takes it in slow and easy until he’s fully seated.

“Oh, _fuck_,” Steve breathes, letting himself settle there for a second, just adjusting.

He’s trembling a little. Billy wants to run his hands up over his back, down his arms. Wants to kiss the corner of his mouth and tell him how fucking _good_ he looks like this.

Then, Steve’s reaching for the controller and turning it on.

He jerks, instantly, crying out and bracing his hands on the edge of the saddle. The controller falls to the bed and Steve squeezes his eyes shut tight. Billy can hear the vibrations, can hear how powerful it must be, working and buzzing inside of Steve. Can see how intense it is, just by the way Steve’s instantly squirming, bucking, riding down onto it without even thinking.

_Lost_ to the sensation of the toy working him up into a fervor.

Billy wants to be right there with him, holding Steve in his arms as he trembles and moans. He thinks, a little bit, about how he doesn’t necessarily want to _share_ this, but also _does --_ he wants Steve to be thinking of him, showing off for him, making Billy _jealous_. After all, there’s nothing more frustrating than knowing Steve’s getting off on a _machine_ instead of with Billy. That a machine is, right now, giving him something Billy could, but isn’t there to give.

But right now, all Billy can do is watch.

He can wish Steve would crumple forward into him as Billy held him up and coaxed him through it. He can wish he was there to jack Steve off while he’s riding it, or even to blow him as the toy fucks into him. He can wish -- a lot of things.

Tips flow in. All generous. Even Billy tips, along with the crowd.

He feels a little weird about it, though. Like maybe he shouldn’t. But it also feels strange _not_ to, too.

Steve doesn’t even _notice_. He’s absolutely _taken_, swept away by vibration and motion.

Billy watches as he ruts. As he grinds down, hips stuttering in desperate little jerks. He’s genuinely clutching at the saddle of the Sybian, thighs trembling as he rides it.

The sounds out of his mouth make Billy _dizzy_. They’re so keenly desperate. So breathless and fucked out. Steve sounds _ravaged_ and Billy _burns_. With want and with envy.

It doesn’t take long. Billy knew it wouldn’t. But it’s still stunning to see the moment that Steve totally comes apart.

His cock pulses as his spills out, without ever even touching it, eyes rolling back as he comes in messy, sticky spurts of white. Makes a complete mess of himself, sobbing through it and _writhing_ as the toy keep buzzing through the spasming quakes of Steve’s body.

Billy’s not even _there_ yet, it happens so fast.

But that doesn’t matter -- because Steve doesn’t pull himself off the machine. He just _stays_ and _squirms_, making the most delightful, needy noises Billy’s ever heard.

He jerks his cock as Steve shouts, as he writhes, as the machine keeps vibrating inside him, unrelenting.

Billy wants to ask him if he’s going to come again, wants to urge him through it, praise him until he’s squirming even more. He wants to get his mouth on Steve’s cock until he screams, wants to clean him up, just to have Steve come again, down his throat this time.

“--oh, fuck,” Steve gasps, thighs clenching and then body seizing through another shudder of overintense pleasure. “_Ahh, fuck! _Fuck, oh god, _oh my god_.”

His voice is a disaster. Wobbling and choked up. He’s shaking all over as he rides it out, as he crests right into another round without even getting soft.

When his eyes open, there are tears clinging to his lashes. He’s panting out little pleas, begging so sweet, though it’s not clear for _what_. He just is, babbling and gone to it, like he can’t even stop himself. Like he’s so overwhelmed he can’t even reach for the controls.

And maybe that’s the case because, as Steve’s riding the toy, he curls in on himself a little and _sobs_. Falls forward a little and barely catches himself on the bed with his arms as he bucks and bucks and _bucks--_

Coming with a broken little _wail_. A half shout, half sob of a thing. So perfectly shattered in its pleasure.

He sounds _broken_. Needy. So absolutely fucked out and desperate.

It’s what gets Billy, what shoves him over the edge and has him coming with a grunt onto the bare skin of his stomach. He streaks his chest with it as Steve pants in the background, the picture of him going a little blurry as Billy’s eyes glaze over, as his pleasure crests. He strokes himself until it hurts a bit, oversensitive, like he’s trying to match Steve -- even though he knows he _can’t_.

He pants, slowing down, just teasing himself idly, fingers through his own come, as Steve whimpers and groans on screen.

Steve’s fumbles for the control as Billy comes down. He’s shaking so bad that it looks almost _painful_. His skin is slick with sweat, hair clinging to the back of his neck and his forehead, and he cranks the knob on the control off with a relieved whimper-- slumping there as he gasps in breath after breath.

The flood of tips is _ridiculous_.

Billy cleans himself up with a dirty shirt and grins fondly as Steve starts to come back to himself. It's a slow process, and he eases himself off the toy with even more care. Again, Billy's hit by the need to pull him into his arms and _care_ for him, to give him everything he needs.

He grabs his phone and texts out a: _**color me jealous, pretty boy. **_

Steve doesn’t seem to hear his phone buzz on the desk. Or, if he does, he’s too busy composing himself, slumped over on the bed, still occasionally twitching through an aftershock.

The chat slows. Starts to clear out a little as Steve lays there, eyes closed, breathing slow.

For a second, Billy thinks maybe he fucked himself into a hazy, blissful sleep.

But then Steve’s groaning and moving. Carefully climbing off his bed. Padding over toward the desk and plucking up his phone.

He smiles, soft and sweet, and then blinks lazily up at the camera.

“Looks like it worked,” Steve says, voice rough. “Thanks for watching, guys. Catch you later.”

And then he’s killing the live feed. Without giving anyone a chance to buy him for the night. Without giving anyone a chance to ask questions.

Billy’s screen goes black at the same time that his phone chimes.

_did you like it? _Steve asks.

What he wants is stupid.

But Billy knows that at this point, for Steve, he's _dumb_.

Billy clicks Steve's contact icon, and then _calls_ him on speaker.

Steve picks up on the second ring. “Was gonna ask you to call me, but you beat me to it.”

“You're so fucking sexy,” Billy says. “_Yes_, it worked. _Yes,_ I liked it.” He lets out a long breath and just topples on his bed, collapsing on his side as he holds the phone in front of his face. “Wish I was there. I mean, before, yeah, but like, _now.”_

Steve lets out a throaty, warm laugh. “That’d be nice. Was a little wild. Don’t do that too often.”

“You look like you could use someone to bring you water.” _Or someone to hold you_, Billy _wants_ to say. He doesn't, but it feels unsaid, like it's hanging in the air between them. Someone like a _boyfriend_.

“Something like that,” Steve breathes, still sounding so _utterly _fucked out, and Billy can hear him puttering around-- floorboards groaning and doors opening, the tap running, a swallow or two. “Wish you were here, too. Before. Now.”

Billy swallows.

“You wanna talk about what you called me, or were you hoping I was too distracted by your pretty face?”

“Right,” Steve seems to sigh, like he’s tired, and he probably _is_. “Listen, I get it, if that’s not what you’re after-- that’s fine. It just… seemed like maybe you were. Like, maybe you wanted to hit me up for more than a few good orgasms.”

Billy's eyebrows crease and he frowns.

“What?” he asks, quickly followed by: “No, I absolutely want -- you. Just you. Anything you'll give me.”

“Oh,” Steve says.

It’s a breathy, surprised little thing. Sort of pleased. Sort of shocked.

Then: “You sure you’re not just saying that to get into my pants, killer?”

But it sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s _teasing_. Even if it wobbles a little at the end-- doubt and hope bleeding into his tone.

“I'd be your fucking _pen pal_,” Billy says. “I’d be anything you wanted me to be.”

He doesn't know how to assure Steve that it's not just about the sex, not just about how hot he is. Billy's not even sure how that _happened_, but it did, and he fell hard.

There’s quiet on the other end of the line. Billy wishes he could _see_ Steve. Wishes he could touch him and reassure him, but he _can’t_. It _sucks_.

“Okay,” Steve finally says. “The potential part stays until I actually get to see your stupid butterface in person. I keep all rights to withdraw the title.”

“Pick a date. Pick a place. I'll be there. You can take one look at my face and vote me off the island, alright?”

"Shit, um…" Steve laughs a little. "Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this."

Billy thinks Steve might back out. Thinks he might change his mind, right here, right now.

"Two weeks from Friday," Steve says. "The, uh, the gallery exhibit I told you about. I'll text you the details."

“You want to meet me at your gallery opening?” Billy asks. When Steve makes a sound, though, he quickly powers on. Not letting him think Billy's not into it. “I'll be there. If you want me there, I'll be there.”

"It's not _my _gallery opening," Steve insists. "I'm just in the pictures."

“Yeah, yeah. But you're the real star of it, I know,” he says, a lazy smile on his face. “I can't wait.”

Steve sucks in a little breath. "Me too."

“Sweet dreams, baby,” Billy says.

He feels more content than he has in _months_.


	3. Chapter 3

The next two weeks are heaven.

The next two weeks are _hell. _

While on one hand, Billy spends his time practically walking on cloud nine because he’s going to see Steve, he also spends it growing increasingly more aware that he’s going to _see Steve._

They still text. Daily and about nothing. Steve snaps him a picture of someone walking the aisles at Walmart late at night. Billy sends him pictures of the sun coming up on the beach. Steve sends him stupid jokes about Burbank-- _c'mon down to Burbank, where you can always find a gun store, there's a coupllle-- _with pictures of two store fronts offering sales on firearms side by side, or of a broken down building with a crooked purple and yellow sign-- _Burbank, California, the only place that I know of that had a Hollywood Video like a YEAR ago_. And Billy tells him about what ridiculous things he sees at Venice Beach-- a guy rollerblading in a rainbow thong; a girl walking a _dozen wiener dogs _all at the _same time_\-- while on his runs.

What’s better than the texting, though, is that they start _calling _each other. Talking before bed-- or before _Billy _goes to bed, at least-- and sometimes Billy even coaxes Steve into reading to him. Sometimes Steve even calls him during the day, complaining about traffic or about the smell in the _Lyft _he just took or how expensive everything is in California.

It’s _perfect. _And it makes the longing in Billy's chest yawn open like a living thing.

Then, the night of the gallery opening comes. Faster than Billy thought it would, if he’s being honest.

Billy spends way too much time getting ready. He knows he does. He worries that he might be over dressing, at one point, between trying on different shirt after different shirt after different shirt. But the _drkrm _is a cutting edge gallery.

Or, at least, that's what the website said when he looked it up.

He knows, regardless, that he’ll be dressed fine. He’s a _model_. Paparazzi follow him wherever he goes. He gets _recognized_. It doesn’t _matter_ what Billy wears. He knows that -- rationally, anyway.

He wants to impress Steve, though. So badly.

He ends up in blue, because it’s Steve’s favorite color. An expensive button down, something silk that shows off his muscles, and slacks that fit _perfectly_. His shoes are shiny and unscuffed, so mirrored that he can practically see his reflection in them when he looks down. He takes an uber and gets there right on time.

It’s not the usual kind of thing Billy goes to. There’s less fuss, less glamor. It’s more under the radar, but clearly _cool_. He _likes_ it.

It's in one of those niche little pockets of LA. Where every shop looks worn and _unique_, with painted doors and succulents out front. With too many cafes trying to be as opposite of Starbucks as they can.

When Billy steps into the gallery, it's a vast and open space. High ceilings, white walls, and photos hung up without much negative space between them.

It's pretty crowded already, people mingling and talking. Drinking. Picking at a cheese bar. Talking about the pictures.

When Billy looks, almost every single image is of Steve.

Billy lets himself look, a passive, but interested observer. While he’s looking at the paintings, though, looking _appreciatively_ because they are works of art -- he’s _also_ looking for Steve. In all the spaces between people, for a glimpse of that perfect head of hair and that _smile_.

He’s not _early_, but he’s not too late, either.

So, when he doesn’t immediately find Steve, he doesn’t panic. There’s a lot of people. And Steve’s the star of the show. He’s probably tucked into a corner somewhere, _mingling_.

A couple people stop to talk to Billy. Some people who _clearly_ know who he is, but who also don’t say anything, either. It’s appreciated. But not what he _wants_.

Billy lingers by his favorite image. A nude that shows more about Steve’s soul, his resoluteness, than it does anything else. It’s beautiful. When someone comes up at his side, he turns and tries to bite back the bitter disappointment that it’s _not_ Steve. It is, however, the photographer, Billy thinks, after seeing his bio on the wall by the door. He looks artsy, nice -- but a little weird, too.

“These yours?” Billy asks.

The guy smiles, a tight little thing, and nods before offering out his hand. "They are. Jonathan Byers."

Billy shakes his hand, curious about the guy who Steve clearly _knows_, who is his _friend_. “William Hargrove,” he offers.

He doesn’t _expect_ Jonathan to recognize the name, but he also doesn’t not expect it, either.

"I know who you are," Jonathan says. "I'd have to be dumb not to recognize you; your face is kind of everywhere. I noticed you were lingering around this particular image. Any reason for that?"

Billy doesn’t know if Jonathan knows that he’s talk to Steve, doesn’t know how much they might share with each other.

“It’s good. They’re all good, you’re very talented -- but this one? There’s emotion here, and serenity, too. I love the light, the contrasts. It’s very raw. Good art is supposed to make you feel, right? This one does that. ”

Jonathan nods, pleased. "And what does it make you feel?"

Billy looks at the image again. At Steve, sitting at the head of a bed, open and vulnerable. At his hand fisted in the empty place next to him, clutching at barren sheets. At his gaze holding camera's eye-- one of the only images where he's looking out at the viewer.

“Longing,” Billy says. “An open vulnerability. Like I can’t help but feel just as raw as him, but like I’m at peace with it.”

Billy _wants_. But it’s not like he’s going to just _say_ that.

"That's the theme," Jonathan says. "At least of this set. Yearning."

Billy nods. “Definitely comes through. You’re very talented. So’s your model,” Billy says. “Is he here tonight?” he can’t help but ask.

Jonathan grunts, arms folding over his chest. “He’s _supposed_ to be.”

Billy’s heart _sinks_. He clenches his teeth, and then his hands. “That’s a pity,” he makes himself say. “Would’ve liked to congratulate him, too.”

Jonathan nods. “You’re not the only one. Everyone’s been asking after him. Wish I could say he’s just running late, but he’s not responding to my texts. Or picking up the phone. I think he just got… nervous.”

“Openings are big,” Billy says. “Maybe he -- wasn’t ready.”

_Shit_, he thinks.

“Yeah,” Jonathan sighs, and then blinks as someone calls for him from across the room-- a tiny little slip of a brunette, pretty, even as she gestures for Jonathan to come over. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, but-- can I give you my card? I’d love to photograph you, sometime.”

“Of course,” Billy says. He’s got his own cards in his wallet, and he pulls one out to exchange it with Jonathan, slipping the new one into its place. “I’d like that,” Billy says.

“I’ll give you a call,” Jonathan says with a polite smile, much less stiff than his first. “I’m working on a new project-- you’d be perfect for it. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Hargrove.”

“You too,” Billy says.

As Jonathan walks away, Billy lets himself frown, eyes drifting back to the picture of Steve.

More acutely and painfully than before, Billy _feels_ that longing, that yearning there. He tries, and kind of fails, not to choke on it.

\--

On his way back, in the uber, Billy sends Steve a text:

_ **i’m not there anymore, so if you want to go to your opening, you don’t have to worry about running into me** _

He doesn’t hear anything back.

\--

Billy is nursing a glass of bourbon when his phone buzzes. It’s 3am. Nearly four.

The messages come in fast.

_im sry_

_i’ m so fukcin g sory _

_i freake d _

His chest twists into something painful, his breath catching.

_**was it me, or the show?**_, Billy asks, after a minute of just staring at the texts.

He’s mad, he’s disappointed, and above all he’s _sad --_ but he can’t just not reply, even though that’s his first instinct.

_bth_

_both_

_i’m sorr y_

Billy closes his eyes. He takes in a breath, and then lets it out.

_ **it’s fine. ** _

** _it was a good show._ **

There’s a long second before Steve’s reply comes through. It’s a garbled mess, hard to read, but Billy gets the gist.

_msorry, wnted to b e ther bt i flippd pani cked couldnt tke it im stupid im sorry jn athon said wasgodo. ppl likedi t. sme bigwiig show ed up. sry mstupid_

Billy clenches his teeth. He wants to set the phone down and deal with this when Steve is sober, but:

_ **you’re not stupid.** _

Any other time, Billy would be fueled by his own egotism, would want to know if the bigwig was _him_, but.

But.

_ **we can talk about this tomorrow. get some sleep. ** _

Billy watches the screen of his phone. Watches those three dots ebb and swell as Steve types back.

_iam _

_sory i fucked up_

_night_

\--

Billy waits.

For the next two days, he waits. He checks his phone every hour, just in case he’s missed anything, in case an alert happened to not come through -- but there’s nothing.

He’s not sure how long he’s supposed to wait.

He’s not sure if Steve’s just written him off completely.

Steve hasn’t been streaming, either, which is -- something, anyway. Not that Billy thinks he could watch that -- it would feel like an invasion.

It’s 1am, and Billy’s already decided he’s not going on his morning run. Instead, he’s sitting on his balcony, sea breeze in his hair, nursing a glass of whiskey.

He pulls out his phone, idly checks all his apps. There’s a few photos of him from the opening. His manager even sends him one he has the rights to. He posts it on his instagram with no comment, other than ‘_@johnathan.byers.photography @drkrm.gallery.’_ He opens a text to Steve, closes it, checks twitter, facebook, even reddit. Then, he opens another text and types out:

_ **do you want to talk about it, or?** _

He can’t bring himself to actually type out the alternative. The: _Would you prefer I leave you alone?_

There’s a small pause, and then a:

_didn’t know if you wanted to keep talking to me at all_

_kind of pulled a dick move_

_ **not like i’ve never been stood up before. ** _

** _i’m a big boy. i just like to know where i stand. _ **

yeah, well, Steve replies. _i still feel like a dick, and it was a dick move, so. i didn’t want to overstep._

_ **i didn’t know if you still wanted to talk to me, either.** _

** _do you?_ **

i do

_ **but do you want to meet me?** _

Another pause. Billy sucks in a tight breath, closing his eyes.

In his hand, his phone buzzes.

_yes, but_

_but i don't know if i can do it without panicking_

It’s not exactly the answer Billy wants. _Yes, but _isn’t solid, it’s basically a _maybe_. Because, sure, Billy’s nervous, too -- but doesn’t Steve _want_ to meet him?

_**i think you should figure out what you want,**_ Billy types.

_right, _comes a soft, defeated reply.

_this is a deal breaker isn't it? _

_i told you i was a mess in real life_

Billy swallows. He sets the phone down, and then drags his fingers through his hair, trying to catch his breath. It’s not a deal breaker, not totally -- because Billy is _stupidly_ hooked on Steve. Billy likes him so fucking much.

_ **i think if you want this to go any further, that can’t happen until we meet.** _

He takes a sip of his drink, and keeps typing before Steve can reply.

_ **but i’m willing to wait, if you need some time. ** _

He takes another drink as he waits. As he gives Steve time to mull the idea over.

He hopes Steve takes him up on the offer. Because as stupid as it is, Billy _would_ wait if it meant he got to see him. To touch him. No matter how briefly. Even only _once_. He’d wait.

_i think time would be good, _Steve says.

_because i do want this-- please, don’t think i don’t. _

_im just_

There’s a long beat, between messages. Long enough for Billy’s head to start filling in the blanks until Steve says:

_i’m just scared, i guess. _

Billy isn’t exactly sure what to think. Steve doesn’t really strike him as the kind of person who gets _scared_, or who lets it get in his way. But then again, that’s such a foreign concept to Billy that he doesn’t really _get it_. He also doesn’t know if Steve _really_ wants this, or if he’s just saying it. If he has no intention of ever moving forward from here. There’s a part of him that fears, perhaps unjustly, that Steve’s just stringing him along. That this is a long game he’s playing, just to see how long Billy’s willing to wait around for him.

Unfortunately, he knows the answer to that is _a long time_.

_ **yeah, okay. ** _

** _i can wait. _ **

okay.

_can i still call you? _

_ **yeah. of course, pretty boy.** _

thanks, killer

_ **any time.** _

\--

“I keep getting phone calls,” Steve says the moment that Billy picks his cell, on a Wednesday, in the middle of the afternoon, a week after their decision to _give it more time_. “And my wifi’s down so I can’t fucking stream.”

Not that Steve’s _been_ streaming. Billy would’ve gotten the notifications.

He hasn’t asked _why_ Steve isn’t streaming. Doesn’t really feel like he has the right to. But Billy is comforted by it, even with as much as he misses being able to watch Steve. To see him. Because the snapshots Steve sends rarely have his face in them.

“Phone calls for modeling gigs?” Billy asks. He tips the phone away from his mouth a little, leans over the counter at the juice bar and says: “Yeah, uh, I’ll take a juice with spinach, cantelope, pineapple, and mango, thanks.”

“I don’t even _know. _Jonathan said he handed out the business cards Nance-- his girlfriend-- made _for_ me,” Steve says. “Am I interrupting you?”

“Are you looking to actually get into modeling?” Billy asks. He pays, and then steps back to wait for his juice. “And no, you’re not. Just running errands after a morning run.”

“_No_,” Steve says. “I mean, I’ve been doing _fine_. What I do is _easy_\-- and it doesn’t exactly lead to a successful business with my face plastered everywhere. I mean, it’d be _nice_, but there’s at _least_ one asshole out there with footage of me-- doing what I do.”

“Is that a _‘I want to but don’t think I can,’_ or a ‘_I don’t want to_?” Billy asks, curious.

Steve blows out a breath. “Do I wanna be in what’s essentially sexwork my whole life? No, of course not. It’s not bad, and I’m sure some people love it, but I don’t wanna do it _forever_. I just don’t think _modeling_ is my next step. Not because I don’t want to, just because-- I mean, I don’t even know _how_ to.”

Billy _laughs_. He can’t help it. “You’re a natural, trust me. I don’t think you’d need much direction at _all_. But if you ever want to, I know some people who would work with you.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Steve says, but it lacks any venom; it sounds mullish, like Steve’s _pouting_. “But I’ll think about it.”

“You should. I’m just thinking about all the artsy shit you’d look good in. Imagine it, people with pictures of you up in their bedrooms, their _living rooms_. Hey, was your friend selling those pictures from the show?”

He laughs, because it’s not like he _would_. Or not right now, anyway, while everything’s so up in the air.

Steve sputters a little. “I _hope not_. I’m naked in over half of those.”

“He gave me his card,” Billy teases. “I could text him and ask.”

“Oh, my god, Billy, _don’t_,” Steve says, laughing. “Don’t even give him the _idea_.”

Billy blinks, a little startled. He doesn’t think Steve’s ever actually called him by his name.

He _likes_ the sound of his name in Steve’s mouth. It almost distracts him from someone saying “_Billy_!” at the counter, where his juice is ready. When he goes to take the juice from the counter and grab a straw, someone looks at him for a hair too long, grins and then goes, “Hey, aren’t you --?”

“Nope,” Billy says, with a winning, practiced smile. “Sorry.”

“Should I let you finish your errands?” Steve asks. “You sound busy.”

“I would really rather talk to you,” Billy says, pushing out of the juice bar, even though someone’s kind of shouting behind him, trying to get his attention.

Steve laughs a little. “Okay. I mean, I’m not gonna _complain_.”

Billy grins. “Tell me about what you’re up to?”

“Oh, you mean _other_ than arguing with my cable company because they’re taking forever sending someone out to my place?” Steve says, and Billy can hear his smile. “Well, I’m talking to _you_, killer.”

\--

Billy’s _bored_.

It’s Friday and he’s home, instead of out at a club or a party-- and he doesn’t even have work in the morning. He’s got the next few days off because he’s got a big job out of town around the corner. He’s got to be in New York on Tuesday, then London on Thursday, then back to LA by Sunday.

So, he’s home and he’s bored. He’s surfing through his insta notifications. He’s sprawled out on his couch.

He _wants_ to call Steve. Wants to invite him over for dinner and wine. Wants to watch the sunset with him from his balcony. But he doesn’t want to _push_.

Because Steve’s been _great_. He’s been texting him regularly and calling him more often. The _hope_ in Billy’s chest has become uncontrollable. Wild and unfurling. And Billy doesn’t want to risk killing it by asking Steve to come over and Steve _turning him down_.

A notification pops up on his phone as he’s skimming through _#satisfying _videos.

_what are you doing? _

_are you busy, rn? _

Billy tries not to hope about what Steve wants. Because _anything_ would be good.

_ **not up to anything. Why?** _

bored, comes the instant reply. _so fucking bored. can i call you? _

_**sure**_, Billy says.

The call comes through near-instantaneously.

“You must be real bored,” Billy says, instead of _hello_.

“Admittedly, I also just wanted to talk to you,” Steve says. “My friend Tommy tried to drag me out to some club, but-- I dunno. Didn’t want to.”

Billy hums. “Glad you’d rather talk to me than go to some club. I’m honored.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, then lets out a sharp breath, and Billy hears the sound of his bed groaning as he plops down onto it. “What are you doing on this fine Friday evening?”

He could lie.

But he doesn’t.

“Literally nothing. Watching stupid shit on my phone. Waiting for you to call, clearly.”

Steve laughs. “We’re both _losers_.”

It feels a little weird, being in limbo like this, with Steve. But Billy’ll take it. Because he’ll take anything Steve gives him, so hungry for it.

“I’m traveling soon,” he says. “Going to New York, then London. Want me to send you a postcard? Pick you up some souvenirs? Ooh, pick out some lingerie for you from those sketchy airport boutiques?”

“All of the above,” Steve says, laughing around his words. “But only if you _really_ like the lingerie. It’s only fair I return the favor. I’ve seen you in yours, but you haven’t seen me in mine.”

“Shit,” Billy says, voice gone deep as heat flares to his gut. “Did you get those pictures back?”

“Not yet,” Steve says. “Jonathan’s still editing them. But-- I mean. If you _want_, I could, uh. I could put something on. Snap a picture for you.”

Billy’s heart kicks up in his chest. “Shit,” he breathes out. “Yeah, that would be -- good. I’d like that.”

“Okay. Okay, just, um…” Steve swallows. “Any preferences? Color, style-- or do you just want me to surprise you?”

“Surprise me,” Billy says.

There’s no decision Steve could make that Billy _wouldn’t_ be okay with. Hell, he’s already getting a little hard.

Steve huffs out an amused sound. “Okay. Just… gimme a sec?”

He doesn’t wait for Billy to reply before he hears the sound of the phone being set down on something hard-- a bedside table or a desk-- something. Steve must’ve put him on speaker, though, because he can hear Steve puttering about his room. Can hear drawers sliding open. Can hear Steve talking under his breath.

Billy waits, anticipation like a drug. He swears he’s tingling, just listening to the rustle of material. To the sound of elastic snapping into place. To a damn _drawer_ sliding shut.

Like, how desperate can he _get_?

But then there’s the static of Steve picking up his phone. A muffled thump. A shutter sound. Then another.

“Okay,” Steve says. “It should be coming through.”

Billy’s phone buzzes against his ear. He pulls it back to look, pulling open the message, and _staring_. Because in his usually pretty mundane stream of texts with Steve are two images of pale skin and red lace. One from the front, of Steve’s half hard cock cradled in sheer fabric, the material straining to keep it all contained. The other from a tilted angle at the back, black ribbon crisscrossing over the pert curve of his ass and ending in a pretty little bow at the top.

“Red’s your favorite color, right?” Steve asks.

Billy tries to _breathe_. He has to palm his own cock, just a little bit. He can’t _not_.

“It is,” he says. “I wanna unwrap you like a _present_.”

Steve groans a little. “_Shit_. Should we-- Is this okay? Can we--? I _really_ wanna hear you get off.”

Billy’s heart skips. His body heats up, skin going _hot_. He hasn’t done this since _college_.

“God, yeah, I mean -- _yes_. If that’s what you want. It’s what I want,” Billy says.

“I want,” Steve says, quick, and a little breathless. “I _so _want.”

Billy puts his phone on speaker and shoves his sweats down over his hips so that his dick springs free. He’s hard, now, so turned on by Steve and his everything.

“I’m so hard for you already, baby,” Billy says, taking himself in hand, giving himself a couple pumps.

Steve moans. He hears Steve’s bed creak, hears Steve’s breath catch.

“_Jesus_, Billy.” Steve says. “You’re gonna kill me. Swear to _god_. Me too. I’m-- _so _hard. Touch yourself for me?”

“I already am,” Billy says. Then, he hums. “Maybe I should’ve waited for you to tell me that, huh?”

“Nope, no, _not _at all, that’s-- that’s _great_,” Steve breathes, hissing a little, and Billy can imagine him palming himself through those panties. “_So _great.”

“You gonna keep your panties on for me, baby?” Billy asks, breath catching in his throat as he thumbs over the head of his cock.

“Uh huh,” Steve says, already panting. “_Fuck_, yeah, whatever you want.”

“_Shit_,” Billy says. “That’s so fucking hot. You palming yourself, thinking about me?”

Steve lets out a soft whine. “_Yeah_. Thinking about you touching me like this, instead. How big your hand would be. If you’d tease all gentle or if you’d press down ha-- _ah, fuck me_\-- harder. Think about you all the _time_, Billy.”

His name, out of Steve’s mouth like _that_, goes straight to his own cock. Makes it throb in his grip.

“Yeah? I’d touch you until you were squirming underneath me, until you were grinding your dick against my hand. But I think I’d be _nice_, and I’d get my mouth on you. Lick you through your panties, get them nice and _wet_.”

Steve moans and Billy hears the springs of his mattress creak and groan. Hears Steve’s breath grow shallow.

“_Fuck_, I want your mouth on me,” Steve says. “Wanna get my fingers in your hair while you lick me. I’m already _leaking_, baby. Ruining my panties.”

Billy jerks himself a little faster, grips himself a little harder, hips arching up and off the couch.

“Shit, you gonna cream them for me? God, I’d lick you clean. Until you’re whining, making all those pretty noises for me.”

“_Billy_,” Steve gasps out. “God, _please_, yes. Want it. Want you so bad.”

Billy moans. Loud and needy, working himself as he thinks of getting his mouth on Steve, of tasting his come through his panties.

“I need you,” Billy pants. “I need to taste you so badly, pretty boy. Need to make you come for me, need to get my tongue all over you. You gonna come for me, baby?”

Steve keens for him. Lets out the sweetest, most desperate little sound. Each short, little breath coming pierced with a lovely, shuddering moan.

“_Yes_. Yes, Billy-- I’m so close,” Steve tells him, heated a short. “So fucking--”

Steve sobs out a curse. He gasps and gasps, the sound of it loud through Billy’s phone as he whines through his orgasm.

Billy _groans_. He pictures Steve, filling his panties with come, jerking into them as he grinds against his hand. It’s hot as sin.

Steve’s still coming, still sobbing and groaning, when Billy comes in his own hand, hard enough that he chokes on it. He pants, breathing hard, eyes closing, as it washes over him.

“Fuck, _Steve_,” Billy moans.

Steve pants into the quiet that follows. They both do, as they collect themselves, both utterly spent by nothing more than a bit of _phone sex_.

“Love hearing you come,” Steve tells him, between breaths, voice low.

Billy huffs out a laugh, still trying to catch his breath. “Hearing you come gets me off.” He wipes his hand down on his shirt, brain idly spinning and catching on thoughts. “Wait,” he says. “Is calling you Steve _fine_, or?”

"Yeah, of course," Steve says. "Why wouldn't it be?"

“It’s your handle?” Billy says, feeling a little adrift. Wondering if he maybe shouldn’t’ve asked.

“Oh!” Steve _laughs_. “Oh, god, no. That’s-- I mean, that’s my real name.”

_That_ stuns Billy into momentary silence. Then, after the absurd shock wears off: “It’s your _real name_?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Why, don’t I look like a Steve?”

Billy laughs, cleaning his hand off on his shirt. Then, he strips the whole thing off and lets it land on the ground in a gross pile.

“You do,” he says. “I just figured you wouldn’t ever use your _real name_ for streaming.”

“It’s a long, stupid story,” Steve huffs. “Let’s just say my friend Tommy is a _cheat_ and has a terrible sense of humor. He set the account up for me after I lost a bet, and it was just supposed to be a one time thing, but-- but I made a lot of money. _Way_ more than I was making working as a sometimes-barista-sometimes-uber-driver.”

“Jesus,” Billy says with a laugh. “I didn’t expect _that_.”

“What, you thought I came all the way from _Nowhere_, Indiana and moved to Hollywood to be a dirty sex streamer?”

“Why _did_ you move out here?” Billy asks.

Steve sighs, and when he speaks, he sounds a little dejected. “Big, dumb dreams and a girl. But that was years ago. Came for the stupidity, stayed because I like the vibe.”

“In _Burbank_,” Billy says. “Must be a hell of a vibe.” He laughs. “Any of those dreams still kicking around in your head?”

“C’mon down to Burbank, where dreams go to die,” Steve chuckles. “Sometimes. Always thought I’d do music or-- fuck, I dunno, _act_ or something. But these days my dreams are pretty simple-- a nice place to live, a nice person to live with, maybe a dog.”

Billy smiles, just thinking about it. He doesn’t let himself get too carried away by the fantasy, though. Steve still doesn’t want to meet. “Well, maybe if you would just call all the people who want you to model for them _back_,” he teases.

“_Hey_, I’m still thinking about it,” Steve says. “Promise.”

Billy can’t help it. It’s out before he can even think twice. “Thinking about that other thing, too?”

Steve’s voice goes _soft_. Tender. “I am. Not yet, but-- _soon_. I promise.”

“Okay,” Billy says, nodding even though Steve can’t see him. “I can wait.”

“Thanks, Billy.” Steve says, just as soft.

“Thank you, Steve,” he says in return. “I’m here. I’m good to wait.”

\--

The next day, Billy’s mostly packing, throwing things into a suitcase that he knows he’ll want. But he’s got nothing on. Nothing planned for the day. He’s putting a smoothie together when he gets a text from an unknown number.

_Hey, it’s Jonathan Byers. I hate to do this, but are you free today? I just had a model cancel on me and I can’t reschedule this location. I’d hate to lose it. _

It’s how Billy ends up in a _warehouse_, practically naked, as Jonathan Byers drags a paintbrush over his chest.

“I really appreciate this,” Jonathan’s saying.

“It’s no problem, really,” Billy says. “I like the whole vibe.”

“There’s not a whole lot of people willing to let themselves be covered in black paint,” Jonathan says, mouth quirking at the corner. “But in black and white, and with a bit of editing, it’ll look like you’re being consumed by a void.”

“Sounds monstrous,” Billy says. “I love it.”

He cleared the whole thing with his manager first, of course. Called it a favor for a friend with no money exchanged. It's for _art_, not commercial -- so it's a little easier.

“Monstrous,” Jonathan laughs as the warehouse door slides open. “That sounds about right.”

“Oh, _jesus_,” someone says as they walk in. “What the fuck is the theme _this _time?”

And Billy-- Billy _knows_ that voice. Knows it intimately. Listened to it all last night until they fell asleep.

In the doorway, Steve is standing there staring. _Steve_, with a tray full of coffee in hand, standing there in ratty jeans and stupid shirt that has little cartoon burgers with googley eyes all over it. _Steve_\-- Billy’s Steve-- standing there with _glasses_ on, eyeing Billy up from behind them, like he’s a total _stranger_.

“You can’t guess?” Jonathan is asking as he steps away, setting the paint brush down in a tray on the tarp.

“Fuck if I know how your freaky head works,” Steve says, padding in and pulling a coffee free, offering it up to Jonathan. “Last time it was boardwalk games and lace panties, and you called it _joy_.”

“What would _you_ have called it?”

Steve grins. “Foreplay.”

This is how Billy dies, he thinks.

He nearly opens his mouth to say something -- but then he remembers that Steve said _not yet_.

No, wait, this is _hell_, actually.

“Are you done with the paint?” Billy asks Johnathan, eyes on the camera as he gets behind it to adjust the lense.

“Just about,” Jonathan says. “We’ll probably add a bit more-- make a progression. Wanna get a shot of you like this, first.”

When he risks it, he catches sight of Steve staring at him, head cocked a little. There’s something on his face, like maybe recognition, but then he’s shaking his head and looking away from Billy.

Before this, Billy had been excited about the shoot. Now, he doesn't know how to feel.

So, he does his job. He folds into his confident self and waits, poised, until Jonathan gives him direction. Flexes his muscles, twists his body, bares his teeth.

He ignores Steve.

When Jonathan tells him to tilt his chin up, he does. Catches the light just right. When he tells Billy to hold his hands out, he does that, too. Opening up his chest and standing there, bare and covered in paint.

Steve whistles. “Where’d you _get_ this guy?”

“Seriously, Steve?” Jonathan asks, pulling back from the camera and frowning down at it. “William Hargrove, this is my idiot assistant for the day, Steve Harrington. Steve, this is William Hargrove. Trust me, you’ve seen him somewhere.”

Steve tilts his head again as he looks at Billy, staring at him from behind his glasses. Billy can’t believe he didn’t know Steve wore _glasses_.

“No shit,” Steve mutters, and then snaps his fingers. “Oh! You’re in all those Tom Ford cologne commercials.”

Billy doesn't say anything.

“See?” Jonathan says, meeting Billy’s gaze over the top of the camera as he adjusts it on the tripod. “Idiot.”

“_Hey_.”

“Would you get in there and add some paint to his shoulder. Maybe his cheek?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve huffs, sliding off the table he was sitting on and padding over to pluck up the paint brush.

Despite the fact that his heart feels like it's going to pound straight out of his chest, Billy stays professional. He eyes Steve as he stands in front of Billy with the bucket and waits patiently. Quietly.

“It’s probably gonna be cold,” Steve warns him, gentle, but casual as can be before dipping the brush into the paint and dragging it from the edge of Billy’s right shoulder and then up his neck, stopping just under his jaw. “Sorry.”

Billy bites back a shiver, teeth clenched. Not from the cold, but from Steve's touch.

“It's fine,” Billy says.

The paint feels weird and slick against his skin. Oily and tight.

Steve blinks at him again, nose scrunching up a little, but he drags the tip of the brush against Billy’s cheek. “So, you do this for a living? Modeling and stuff?”

Billy doesn't even flinch. He just hums an affirmative as the brush slides over his cheek and then down his neck.

“How is it?” Steve asks, genuinely interested, brows drawing together as he gets the shell of his ear; when Billy just grunts, Steve’s lips purse up a little. “Like, I mean, do you _like _it?”

Steve is _so_ close, _touching_ him, and all Billy can hear is _not yet, not yet, not yet. _

“Yeah,” Billy says.

He doesn’t elaborate. Not the way he wants to.

Steve clears his throat a bit, at the short answer, and then nods. “Right, uh. Cool.”

And then he’s pulling away. Billy feels it like a physical ache, feels so suddenly _cold_ without Steve standing close.

It’s not _fair_. Steve’s right fucking _here_. He’s right here and Billy can’t do _anything_. Can’t even reach out and actually touch him without the buffer of a paintbrush running over his skin.

“All good?” Steve asks.

“Perfect,” Jonathan says.

Steve steps out of frame and Jonathan takes a few more shots. Mutters out direction that Billy follows on autopilot.

As he does, he can see Steve out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the table again, off to the side. He’s got his phone out and is typing rapidly on it, face scrunched up in concentration. He hears his own phone buzz a few times, left with his things nearby, and tries to will the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“_Shit_,” Jonathan says. “I’m outta film. I’m gonna run and grab some from my car. Hargrove, if you want a coffee, I had Steve get extra.”

And then he’s walking out the door, leaving Billy and Steve _alone_.

There's not much else to do than grab his phone -- immediately flicking it to silent -- and then get coffee.

“Which one is mine?” Billy asks, as he makes it over to the table, barely looking at Steve, eyes on his phone and like ten new texts, all from Steve.

“Oh, um.” Steve glances up, pointing at one coffee and then the next. “Sweet with cream. Not sweet and no cream. Got two options, just in case.”

He sounds so polite. But the texts tell a totally different story.

_killer_

_killer you’re not gonna BELIEVE_

_helping jonathan with a shoot and there’s this guy here_

_hot like burning but like TOTAL dick_

_like, i get not wanting to talk about your job i guess???_

_but i was just being n i c e _

_if this is what all pro models are like im def not interested_

_Yikes_

_killer ? _

_billy are you busy? am i being annoying? _

It feels _weird_ to text with Steve right there, but Billy can't just let him think he's annoying.

_**busy, sry!**_, he sends.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the black coffee. He feels like he _should _say something else -- but there's nothing. There's no way he can come out of this _well, _he realizes. There's no way Steve won't find out. But.

_Not yet_, Steve had said. He wasn't ready, for some reason Billy doesn't _get_.

“Yeah, man. No problem.” Steve says, but he’s busy smiling at his phone, so damn _fond_ that it makes Billy’s chest ache.

_so busy all the time, killer_

_don’t work too hard_

Billy fucking _aches_ with it. He has to turn his back to Steve, has to take a deep breath and close his eyes for a second.

His palms itch. He wants to reach out and touch and taste and _take_.

Behind him, Steve _sighs_.

_gonna keep ranting at you, tho_

_feel free to ignore_

_but like, okay, it might be all in my head but this dude is HIGHKEY giving me the cold shoulder_

_no clue WHAT i did_

_but he’s just standing here while we wait for jonathan to get back with more film_

_and okay ADMITTEDLY i’m ignoring him now too but this dude started it_

Billy takes a deep breath. Then he lets it out.

He takes a long sip of coffee, and then turns and sets it down on the table.

Before he can think otherwise or talk himself out of it, he clicks on Steve's contact info. He taps the _call _button and keeps his eyes on Steve.

Steve stops typing, mid text, _smiles_, and answers.

Before Steve can say much more than _hey_, Billy's bringing his _own_ phone up to his ear, while he stands, like, _five feet_ away from Steve and goes, “Hey, yeah, you _said_ ‘not yet’, so.”

Steve’s head whips around, eyes laughably wide behind his dumb glasses as he meets Billy’s gaze. His lips part and he blinks, rapidly, a few times.

Billy sees his throat work. Sees his ears go red.

“You-- You’re--”

“_Yeah_,” Billy says, voice choked tight.

Steve’s phone slips right out of his hand. It clatters against the table and then right onto the floor.

He doesn’t look away from Billy, eyes darting over his face, _hunting_. His chest hitches and then rises and falls shallowly. Color floods his face.

Billy bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“But you said your name was _Billy_,” Steve blurts.

It's not anything he expected to come out of Steve's mouth. But his chest floods with warmth: it's so fucking _cute_ \-- _Steve_ is so fucking cute. He slips his phone back into his pocket, hands itching to reach out and touch.

“William Hargrove is the _brand_,” he says. “Everyone calls me Billy.”

"But you--" Steve's face twists up. "I mean, what are you _doing_ here--?"

“Johnathan asked -- his other model cancelled. To my credit, I didn't realize you would be here.”

"So, you just--" Steve takes a deep breath; Billy didn't realize it, until then, just how quick Steve was breathing.

_I panicked_, Steve had told him. Not _I had an anxiety attack. I flipped_, he'd said, _I'm a mess in real life_. Not _if I see you it might trigger an anxiety attack because I'm not just nervous, I have an actual disorder or propensity toward them. _

Billy wants to hold him. Wants to tell him it's _okay_.

But Steve's self-regulating. He's breathing in, steady and slow, and clutching at the edge of the table.

"You're just here to help Jonathan," Steve says, voice a little wobbly.

Billy nods, slow. He opens up his shoulders, posture going a little loose. More friendly. He wants Steve to feel _safe. _

“I'm not, like, stalking you. I seriously was just helping someone out with a project that sounded cool. I can -- leave, if you want. I can tell him something came up. I'm sure he's got enough shots. I mean, how many pictures of a guy covered in black paint can you _take_?” he says, joking.

"You'd be surprised," Steve mutters, staring over at him.

Billy doesn't know what Steve's looking for. Doesn't know what he's searching for on his face.

But then Steve's reaching out, reaching up, fingertips just brushing the shell of his ear, trembling a little.

"You really do have big Dumbo ears," Steve says, so soft, so _fond_, a crooked little smile on his lips.

Billy laughs, a bubble of energy bursting inside of him like relief.

“Still think I'm a butterface?” Billy asks, even as his gut heats. He stands very, very still. Like he's scared if he moves, he'll spook Steve.

"No, you're--" Steve's cheeks are still so pink, it's hard to imagine they could get any pinker, and yet. "No. Not a butterface."

Billy _knows _that. But it's _nice_ to know that Steve thinks he's attractive.

He doesn't reach out, but he does take just one step closer. Eating up the space between them.

“Glad you think so,” he says. “That would _suck_. Though I'm sure I could rock wearing a paper bag over my head.”

"_Yeah_," Steve breathes, and for the first time, his gaze drops-- skirting down over Billy's chest, his arms, his stomach, his-- and then Steve's gasping and clapping both hands over his face. "Oh, my _god_, I was ranting about you to _you_."

Under Steve's gaze, Billy's blood heats up. Even though he's not wearing anything, he feels _hot_.

“Yeah, you were. You're kinda a bitch,” he says, lips slipping into a grin. “It's hot.”

"It's not _my fault _you decided to be all stoic and _grunting_," Steve says, hands dropping from his face so he can press two fingers to the center of Billy's chest and _push_. "I'm not a _bitch_."

Billy _laughs_. “You were so _mad_,” he says, still laughing. He lets Steve push him, but then immediately pushes back into his space. He doesn't shove back, but does crowd up against Steve again, a little closer this time. “Such a bitch. I love it.”

"I'm _not _a-- I mean, I was just being _friendly_," Steve insists, breath catching a little, those big dark eyes of his going _darker _as his gaze skirts across Billy's shoulders. "You barely gave me more than two words at a _time_. You-- I mean, you were just--"

He's so _flustered. _

“You're so cute,” Billy breathes. “I was trying to respect that you didn't want to meet yet.”

Steve _shudders. _It's a visible thing, a soft little ripple that seems to travel right down his spine. His fingers flex where he's got them planted at his sides on the table. He wets his lips, eyes on Billy's.

"Yeah, well." Steve says, throat bobbing. "Here we are."

“Here we are,” Billy says.

Steve moves before Billy can blink. Surging forward and reaching for him, nearly toppling right off the table as he stands, his hands slide over Billy's jaw to frame his face and pull him in. To catch his mouth, clumsy and without any finesse, but heated and _desperate. _

Billy nearly crumbles with his need. He catches himself with paint covered hands in Steve's hair. He falls into the kiss, also desperate for it, as Steve licks into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes against his lips.

It feels like a circuit, completing.

His nerves light up. Lips tingling as Steve slants their mouths more perfectly together. Steve _moans _against his _mouth_ as his fingers tighten in Steve's hair. Billy swallows it down, _hungry_.

Steve sneaks his arm over Billy's shoulder to cup the nape of his neck and draw him nearer. Snakes a hand between them to trail a touch of fire down his chest, to his side, fingers splaying out over the ladder of his ribs. Smearing paint as he goes.

Billy makes a noise at the base of his throat, guttural, animal, _desperate_.

He presses forward, kiss going a little feral, a little raw. Steve meets him so_ easily_. Welcomes him by spreading his legs and parting his lips so that Billy can press a leg between his thighs and lick into his mouth.

He's hot all over and Steve's _hotter_. Burning right up under his hands, letting out breathy sounds against his mouth as their tongues side slick against each others.

The table isn't that far. It's not difficult to sit down against it and pull Steve with him, legs straddling his own. It's needy, depraved. Paint smearing everywhere.

It's everything Billy needed after wanting for so long.

Of course, it's then that Jonathan walks back in.

“Hey, so I thought we could -- _what?”_

Steve jerks back. His mouth is swollen, his face is red, and his glasses are crooked. His hair is oily with black paint from Billy's hands, face streaked from Billy's touch.

“Uh, Steve?” Jonathan asks.

Billy feels hot. Mildly embarrassed. Like he's been caught.

“I can explain,” Steve says, stumbling his way out of Billy’s lap on his long legs, nearly falling right over if Billy didn’t catch him by the hips.

“Explain?” Jonathan asks, glancing between them, frozen in the doorway.

“This is-- He’s actually my-- Um.” Steve blinks over at Billy, worrying his lower lip. “Um, this is my potential new boyfriend I was telling you about.”

Jonathan blinks. “_What_?”

“I didn't know he was going to be here,” Billy says, for what feels like the tenth time.

His fingers loop at the cotton of Steve's stupid shirt, keeping contact, not wanting to let him go.

His lips still feel warm from the kiss. He's dizzy with it, too.

Jonathan opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He holds up both his hands and sighs.

“You know what? Don’t wanna know,” Jonathan says, and Steve bows his head a little as he palms the back of it, face pink. “And since you decided to mess up the paint, I’ve got a new idea. Steve, you’re probably gonna want to strip-- though, your clothes are kinda messed up anyway.”

Steve head jerks up. “_What_?”

“I’m gonna photograph both of you,” Jonathan shrugs. “Go on, get into place.”

Steve’s eyes find Billy’s. “You, uh. You okay with that?”

Billy nods, feeling hot, but in the _good_ way, like everything’s coming together just right.

“Absolutely,” he says. “Talk about a career starting move.” He tugs at Steve’s shirt. “We’re either going to have to ruin this more, or take it off completely.”

Steve holds his gaze for a second, throat working. Then, he reaches up and pulls his glasses off, setting them next to Billy on the table.

“Guess it’s coming off, then.”

Billy watches him strip, eyes on the lines of his stomach, the terrain of his ribs.

“I like the glasses, by the way,” Billy says casually, as he waits. “Very stern professor. I’m into it.”

“Oh, my god,” he hears Steve hiss under his breath, working his fly open as he toes off his shoes. “Don’t even. I _do not_ need a hard-on while Jonathan takes pictures of us.”

Jonathan snorts from where he’s off to the side, reloading the film in his camera. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Billy delights when Steve looks _offended_, huffing out his vague displeasure.

He leans a little closer to Steve and puts on his best, most charming grin. “But professor, isn’t there _anything_ I can do to make up my grade?” he teases.

Steve fully puts his hand over Billy’s face and pushes a little, flushing down his neck to his chest. “Shut _up_. Oh, my _god_.”

Then, he’s shucking his jeans off and standing there in black boxerbriefs. He crouches and plucks his pants up, throwing them at Billy’s chest before padding toward the black backdrop and the tarp, glancing over his shoulder at Billy.

“C’mon,” he says. “I guess we’ve got some work to do.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve’s still got paint under his right ear when they’re all cleaned up-- a cold shower in an old sanitation room-- and his hair is damp and hanging in his face as he helps Jonathan load up his beater of a car. They’re bickering as Billy steps out into the parking lot, Steve gesturing with his hands and nearly dropping the case he’s got held to his chest.

“Would you-- be _careful_,” Jonathan grouses, catching the case and placing it in the back of the hatchback. “I’m just _saying_, you should bring him over to our place for dinner and drinks sometime.”

“And I’m just _saying_,” Steve frowns. “That I don’t know if he’d be into that. I’ll _ask_, okay? _Jesus_.”

Billy clenches his teeth and runs a hand through his still-wet hair. He knows he _shouldn’t_ speculate about what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t like the sound of it, the implication. He doesn’t like that it sounds like Steve’s using Billy as an excuse to not bring him around because, just maybe, Steve’s not that into him.

Sure, the shoot was fun. The electricity between them was _intense_. Crazier than anything Billy’s ever felt.

But that doesn’t mean Steve _wants_ him. Or maybe he wants him, but not to keep.

Billy swallows.

“Hey,” he says, drawing attention back to himself. “Do you need anything else, or should I call a ride?” He wiggles his phone a bit, as if to signal that he’d be calling an Uber.

Steve blinks over at him. Not even an hour ago, he had Steve half naked and pressed along his back, a hand dipped in black paint curving over his jaw and splayed low on his stomach, his breath against his ear like he was whispering some terrible secret there.

Now, Billy’s all cleaned up, Steve’s painted touch gone but the sensation of it lingering.

Steve shoves his glasses up into his hair as he takes a step forward, and then falters. “Oh, um. Yeah, no. If you-- If you’ve got somewhere you need to be, that’s fine. But uh, if you don’t, I thought we could-- maybe finally get that smoothie or something?”

Billy’s eyebrows raise up. “You sure?” Because he _wants_, but Steve’s like this weird puzzle Billy can’t figure out. “How would you feel about a late lunch, early dinner?”

Steve smiles. “I mean, if you know a place that doesn’t mind paint on my clothes.”

“I don’t think _any_ place in Venice Beach will give one single shit.” Billy pauses. “If you'd want to go there.”

“Yeah, that’s-- That’s fine,” Steve says, shuffling forward another step. “That’s great. Did you wanna go now, or…?”

“Yeah,” he says. “As long as that's okay with your friend?”

“Jonathan’s fine,” Steve says, waving a dismissive hand.

Jonathan rolls his eyes, holding up his middle finger at Steve’s back. Steve blows him a kiss.

“Have fun,” Jonathan says. “Don’t die.”

“I'm pretty sure it would be really difficult for me to be a serial killer,” Billy says.

“You never know,” Jonathan shrugs and then snaps his trunk shut. “Catch you later, Steve.”

Billy rolls his eyes, half amused and half annoyed. Steve was _already_ nervous to meet him -- Billy doesn't want Jonathan putting ideas in his head.

But he waves as Jonathan climbs into his car, and then it’s just him and Steve. Steve, shifting his weight a little on his feet and pushing his glasses back on so he can drag his fingers through his hair. Billy’s eyes follow the paths of his fingers and he yearns to touch, touch, touch.

“Um. So,” Steve smiles a little. “You want me to order the ride or do you want to?”

“I can,” Billy says.

He makes the destination a little street where he knows there’s a cute cafe with outdoor seating and great food -- and plenty of other restaurants nearby that they can choose from, if Steve doesn’t like the looks of the cafe.

“If --” Billy says, then stops and laughs at himself. When Steve raises his eyebrows in a silent question, Billy just shrugs. “I mean, I was just thinking we could take separate rides, if you want. If that makes you more comfortable. I don’t know -- what you want.”

Steve frowns a little. He stares at Billy for a second and then shuffles forward, until the space between them doesn’t seem so daunting.

“Stop worrying about if I’m uncomfortable. Trust me, I’ll tell you.” Steve says, then squints at him a little through his glasses. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

Billy laughs a little bit, because he can’t help himself. “Not at all. I mean, _maybe_ a little uncomfortable, with just how much I want to call you _professor_, but…”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning a little and there’s that blush on his face again. “You’re such a dick.”

Billy does laugh at that, loud and delighted. “Never heard _that_ before.” Sarcastic and so, so fond.

“I guess you _did_ warn me,” Steve sighs, like an overdramatic _brat_.

Billy wants to scoop him into his arms and kiss him, wants to get his fingers into that mane of hair and tug.

But the car is pulling up and Billy’s stomach is _empty_.

“C’mon, _King Steve_, our chariot awaits.”

“Oh, jesus, don’t _call_ me that,” Steve grumbles, but he follows Billy into the car anyway, tucking into the backseat with him. “Nobody has called me that since _high school_.”

Billy nearly dies laughing as they get into the car. “Holy shit, people _actually_ called you that? That’s amazing.”

“It was a small town.” Steve shrugs. “I was really popular.”

“Of course you were,” Billy says. “A pretty face _and_ you’re kind of a jerk? I definitely see it.”

“What, and you _weren’t_?” Steve asks, twisting a little in his seat to look at him as they take off down the road. “You can’t tell me you weren’t strutting around in high school, knowing _exactly_ how hot you were, ruling the school.”

“I absolutely was,” Billy says, grinning. “I was top dog, and I kept things that way. Tell me we were _both_ prom king?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, I was prom king. Two years in a row-- junior and senior prom.”

“So, you’re telling me we’re both royalty, huh?”

“Do we have to, like, fight to death, now?”

“I always did love a good fight,” Billy says. “Lunch first, maybe. Then we can decide what the winner gets.”

Steve knocks his shoulder into Billy’s. “I already know I’m gonna lose. Can I just forfeit the victory to you?”

“And deprive me of my fight?” Billy says. “Mm. Depends. What do I win? Other than, clearly, a meal with a king?”

Steve shifts a little, the fingers of his right hand flexing in his lap. “Well, I guess it depends on what you _want_. You’d be the winner, after all. You’d get to pick.”

Billy reaches out, threading his fingers in with Steve’s.

“That’s easy, then. I wanna see you again.” Even though this meeting has barely even started, Billy already knows that.

Steve’s fingers curl into his; his smile is tentative but so sweet. “I think I can probably make that happen.”

\--

Late lunch, early dinner goes well.

They go to the cafe and sit in the wire chairs, talking between bites. They share a basket of fries along with their meals between them, and when Billy teases Steve, Steve launches fries at him until Billy catches one in his mouth with a toothy grin and a wink that makes Steve laugh so hard his eyes tear up.

Billy’s a little bit in love with him. Falls a little harder, each second.

When they’re done and they get the check, Steve insists that they go dutch. Billy wants to argue, wants to treat Steve to anything and everything he could want, but he figures he’ll get the chance next time.

“I guess we should head out,” Billy says, when he starts to feel like the waitress is eyeballing them a little too hard for taking up a table and not ordering anything else; he thinks she only lets them get away with it for so long because they tipped well.

“Do you have to be somewhere?” Steve asks, but he’s standing and tucking his chair in, following after Billy as he starts heading down the sidewalk.

“No, not really.”

Steve grins. “How do you feel about ice cream and bread pudding?”

“You’re aware I have a figure to maintain, right?” Billy asks, though he threads his fingers in with Steve’s and lets him tug Billy toward the beach. “Lead the way, pretty boy.”

Steve laughs a little, pulling Billy along. “See? You keep trying to get me into this whole modeling thing, but I gotta tell you-- I have a _terrible_ sweet tooth. I’d never be able to give it up.”

Billy lets himself be led down the sidewalk, past families and couples and joggers, uncaring about all of them -- eyes only for Steve. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem for you. You’re already perfect.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Steve says, but he squeezes at Billy’s hand. “Do you seriously, like, _deprive_ yourself of sweet stuff to look good?”

“No,” Billy says with a laugh. “Not that much, anyway. I work out a lot, though. The muscles? Those aren’t just _natural_. I gotta work hard for those.”

“I can imagine,” Steve says, glancing over at him. “I mean, _jesus_. You look like you could break me in _half_.”

“A lot of it is for show,” Billy says. Then, he hums. “Though, I mean, I’m willing to _try_.”

He _grins_, sly and playful, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his own. Steve huffs a little, shaking his head, but his fingers are still laced with Billy’s and holding tight.

“Is that an _offer_?” Steve asks.

Billy’s skin prickles with anticipation, with desire. “Only if you promise to return the favor.”

Steve sucks in a little breath, thumb dragging over Billy’s, fingers squeezing. “You’d have to clear an afternoon. I’d need time, but I think I could make that happen.”

Billy’s heart _pounds_. His skin lights up under the drag of Steve’s thumb. “Okay, sure, kill me why don’t you. I thought you were taking me to get _ice cream_, not give me a heart attack in public.”

“What-- You _started _it.” Steve says, eyes wide, and a little _adorably_ outraged. He’s so fucking cute, Billy can’t deal with it.

Billy leans in, getting himself real close to Steve’s ear. “I’m wearing _sweatpants_, Steve. You wouldn’t want me to embarrass myself, would you?”

Steve audibly swallows, but then he’s adjusting his grip on Billy’s hand, fingers slipping through his and then curling in tighter. “If you keep _blaming _me for shit, I might just encourage it.”

“God,” Billy says with a laugh, nosing in to Steve’s space, pressing his face up against his neck as they walk. As close and as comfortable as lovers. It just feels so _easy_, so natural. It’s crazy, Billy thinks, just how simple it all feels with Steve. “You’re such a dick, I _love_ it.”

Steve shivers. Billy feels it quake up through him. He tilts his head over a little, pace slowing as he guides Billy along, baring his throat for him with a sharp exhale. He’s clutching, just shy of too tight, at Billy’s hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just hums as Billy presses in closer. Just turns his head a little to press his nose against Billy’s hair. Now granted the access, Billy pushes his lips to Steve’s neck to leave the warmth of a kiss there, the promise for more, should Steve _want_. Billy tightens his grip on Steve’s hand, a little squeeze, and lets Steve pull him the rest of the way to the ice cream shop.

\--

The beach is easy to get to after Steve orders the most ridiculously decadent dessert at a hole in the wall called _Espresso Yo Self_. It’s literally right across the street, and they head over with two spoons and one plastic container of chocolate chunk bread pudding topped with _bitchin’ berry_ ice cream and _way_ too much whipped cream.

Steve just smiles and says _I told you I had a sweet tooth_ when Billy’s eyebrows arch high.

They settle on one of the benches, side by side, and Steve tucks his feet up under himself as he crisscrosses his legs and pops the container open, holding out a spoon for Billy. “You have to at least _try it_.”

“Who said I wasn’t going to?” Billy says. “I’m a sucker for sweet things.”

He lets Steve take the first bite. He waits until there’s ice cream lingering on his lips, and then he leans in, catching Steve in a short kiss before he’s pulling back, licking his own lips.

“Pretty good,” Billy says with a shrug and a smirk.

Steve groans around a laugh. “You’re a _cliche_.”

But he sets the plastic box aside and reaches out. Curves his hand along Billy’s jaw and draws him in.

“And that was a shitty kiss,” Steve tells him, before slanting their mouths together for a longer, more pointed second.

Steve tastes like caramel and berries, like vanilla and cinnamon. Billy breathes it in and eats it up, pressing in, pressing closer. _Greedy_.

He’s wanted this for so long, it seems impossible to resist now, especially with the crashing of the waves just beyond them, with the breeze blowing freely in their hair.

He reaches out and gets a hand in Steve’s shirt. Splays it over his side and then curls his fingers into the soft cotton. Pulls a little. Steve makes a sound against his mouth and leans with it, until he’s folding a leg over and resting on his hip, sitting sideways on the bench as they kiss.

Their noses bump as Steve breaks it. For a second, Billy fears he’s going to pull away, but Steve just tilts his head and presses their lips back together, thumb dragging over his cheek. Steve doesn’t let it go too deep; keeps them simple, shallow little things. Billy feels him smile against his mouth when a noise wells up from his own throat.

He should be embarrassed that Steve’s got him so easy. That he’s so transparent, here. But it feels nice to just let things be _simple_, no playing, no hiding how he feels.

After a little while, Billy pulls back, lips red and breathing a little harder than before.

“Shit,” he says, and leans his forehead against Steve’s. He laughs a little. “God, I’ve wanted to do that so badly for so long.”

“Sorry for making you wait,” Steve mutters, fingertips trailing along his jaw.

Billy shivers under his touch, his attention. “I'd wait for a _stupidly_ long time.”

“Still,” Steve breathes, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Shouldn’t’ve made you wait so long. It was stupid.”

Billy didn't _get_ it before. He still doesn't really get it now. He just knows it was big. That Steve wasn't just casually nervous like Billy was. That it was something bigger, something more unpredictable.

“It wasn't,” Billy says. “But it doesn't matter. You're here with me right now. And I only had to _royally_ piss you off first, and then cover you in paint.”

Steve laughs a little, breathless and delighted. “You gotta admit you _were_ acting like a totally standoffish dick.”

Billy shrugs. “Yeah. I was. But people also expect me to, so I usually get away with it. Or maybe they just text their boyfriends about it, who knows.” He shrugs again, then looks at Steve. “Or their potential-maybe-boyfriends.”

Steve pulls back to meet his gaze. He drops his hand from Billy’s face in order to take up one of his hands instead, eyes falling too. He plays with Billy’s fingers, tracing over them. Touching across the backs of Billy’s knuckles.

“You actually want to date me,” Steve says; it’s not a question, but Steve lets out a soft laugh, like he hadn’t really believed it before now. “I mean, offer is still on the table. Title not rescinded. Even though you _do_ have big ears.”

“Why is that so surprising? Did you think I'd change my mind?” Billy asks.

He squeezes Steve's hand, taking his fingers into his own. He brings Steve’s hand up, cradling it in both of his, and presses a kiss to the backs of his fingers, to the delicate bones across the back of his hand.

Steve shudders. Lets out a little breath. Leans in and rests their foreheads together again.

“Billy,” he says. “You found me through a glorified _porn site_. Like, the fact that you're hot and famous kinda makes me think you could get whoever you want but you’ve picked _me_ helps, but-- But there’s a part of me that’s worried you just wanna hit it and quit it. It’s small, but it’s there. And-- And I’d _hate_ that. Because I really like you.”

It makes sense. And Billy's also given a lot of thought to their circumstances before, too. Has always been, at least a little, concerned about how Steve sees him.

“If it helps, I wasn't _planning_ on it. And I've never actually done _this _before. I mean, shit, I've never actually bought a private session with anyone before. You just -- _shit_, Steve -- you were something special from the first second I saw you.”

He ghosts his lips over Steve's knuckles.

He hates to say it, but: “We can take this shit slow, if you're worried I'll hit it and quit it.”

Steve nudges at Billy’s nose with his own. “I don’t _want_ to take it slow. I feel like we’ve _been_ taking it slow. I just-- I just want you close to me. We’ve been far for so long.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, even though it's not funny. “You know I'm leaving for New York on Tuesday, right? Then London?”

Steve sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “_Yeah_, I think I remember something about that.”

“You could come with,” Billy says, even though it's _ridiculous. _

Steve pulls back again, blinking at him. “Would you _want _me to?”

“Why wouldn't I? That shit's kinda lonely, really.” Billy shrugs. Because it really is. Billy spends his time lazing around most of the time, when he’s not in meetings or shoots. He used to party -- but he’s older, now. He’d rather spend his time by the ocean, or by the pool. Maybe even at a gallery -- but he’s never got anyone to go _with_, other than his manager. “I know that's kind of the _opposite _of slow. But.”

“But you want me to,” Steve says. “You want me to travel with you to New York. To London.”

He sighs a little, and Billy feels it in his chest. Feels his ribcage go tight.

“Shit,” Steve huffs. “Guess I need to find my passport, huh?”

The tightness springs loose like a broken coil inside him, flooding him with relief, happiness, fondness. Billy surges forward and catches Steve in a kiss, ice cream and pudding absolutely forgotten.

“Please,” Billy breathes against his lips, suddenly desperate for it.

Steve's smiles against his mouth, framing Billy's face in his hands. "I will, Billy. I'll come with you. I haven't had a vacation in forever anyway."

“How do you feel about being up on gossip websites?”

"Um," Steve's distracted, for a second, by the kisses Billy keeps pressing to his mouth. "I don't think I've ever been on one. So, I dunno. Don't really-- yeah, I don't really _care_ as long as you keep kissing me."

Billy kisses him again, and then pulls back. “Seriously, though. You’ll have to be okay with that. That someone might recognize you, that they might connect the dots back to what you do. I’m okay with that, but it’s something to consider.”

Billy’s _publicist_ might not be so happy with that, but Billy doesn’t care. It’s not like anything is going to _stop_ him from being with Steve, as long as Steve’ll have him.

Steve frowns a little. His gaze skirts to the side as he processes the implication. Billy waits, patient, and nearly tells Steve he can have time to think about it, that he doesn't need to decide _now_, when Steve shrugs a shoulder.

"That's always been a risk for me. People connecting the dots or finding out and calling me out for it." Steve says. "I'm not ashamed of what I do, Billy. It feels good and it's fun and I made money. I don't really care if strangers know-- all the people that matter to me already do."

Billy nods. “That’s good. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it. I just -- I mean, it’s not like it would be _front page_ news or anything, but it definitely will end up on some websites. There will be press.”

"Okay," Steve nods, throat working a little. "I guess I'll deal with it when it comes."

Billy leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth. Then, he pulls back. “I'm pretty sure our ice cream has _probably_ melted.”

Steve glances over his shoulder at the container, twisting and pulling his hand free to reach for it. When he brings between them, the ice cream has definitely gotten soft, melted in a sticky lake around the chocolate bread pudding at the bottom. Even the whipped cream looks a little flat.

It doesn't stop Steve from dipping his finger in the mess and then licking it clean.

"Still tastes good," he says.

“Can you try, like, a _little bit_, to let me keep my dignity?” Billy says with a laugh.

"Absolutely _not," _Steve says, and then smears whipped cream and ice cream right down Billy's nose.

Billy laughs, delighted and so fucking fond. He's struck, stupidly, by just how much he _likes_ Steve. He's silly and funny and quick. And gorgeous, too -- but at this point, Billy knows that's just the hook that drew him in, not what caught him for good.

“C’mere,” Billy says, kissing Steve just so he gets sugar on his face, too, laughing as Steve yelps and tries to pull away.

\--

They part ways after they finish the pudding, even though Billy wants nothing more than to bring Steve back to his place. It’s their first date, Steve points out, and Billy has to nod. He agrees, anyway. He also doesn’t want Steve to think that he _will_ just _hit it and quit it_, or that Billy wants him just for his body, which is a reasonable assumption to make, given how they met.

So, Billy goes back to his place and Steve goes back to Burbank, and Steve promises to find his passport.

It's not even 24 hours before Billy gets a text from his manager.

It's a set of pictures, of Billy and Steve on the bench by the beach, laughing and smiling and _necking_. There's even one with whipped cream on Billy’s nose. They look _happy_, and Billy instantly likes them, even though the photos are grainy and taken from afar.

_Hottie Hargrove’s New Boy Toy?_, the caption reads. There’s a whole article after the pictures, some speculative piece about who this guy is and how long they’ve been together. Billy’s already _out_, at least, even though he doesn’t date much, so at least it’s not trying to paint them as just _good friends_ (as hilarious as Billy finds those articles).

The text from his manager just says “_???_”

_**my new boyfriend,**_ Billy sends. Then, to give her _some_ semblance of warning: _**he’s a camboy, just fyi. **_It’s better than her finding out from gossip rags, anyway.

_Don’t know what I expected_, she sends.

_ **he’s coming with to nyc + london** _

_Of course he is, _she sends after a little while. _I booked him a seat next to you. _

Billy appreciates her so much.

He sends the article to Steve, hoping that he’s the first person to get it to him. It doesn't take long for Steve to call him.

"Wow, okay, you weren't joking." Steve says before Billy can say anything. "Gotta say, don't think I've ever been somebody's _boy toy. _Is it weird that I dig it?"

“Are you sure I’m not _your_ boy toy?” Billy says, putting the phone to his ear as he rummages in his fridge for something to drink.

"I'm the sexworker, I get to be the boy toy," Steve insists.

Billy laughs. “Uh huh. But I’m _whipped_ for you.”

"Oh? I didn't know you were into that," Steve teases, and Billy can hear his smile. "Not really my thing, but I know a club or two where we could find it--"

“Jesus, baby,” Billy says, more laughter bubbling forth. It’s not really his thing, either, but he could be convinced of anything, if it’s Steve, he thinks. “Anyway, does my boy toy need new swim trunks or anything, before we leave?”

"You're just trying to get me half naked and wet, aren't you?"

“What, you _don’t_ want to sit in a private rooftop pool with a basically naked model?” Billy asks. “I’m a little offended, Steve.”

Steve laughs. "I mean, I don't _need _anything new. Unless I do? Do I need to worry about how I dress now that I'm dating a model? Am I gonna have to keep up on the trends?"

“Maybe you can just be my hipster boyfriend,” Billy says.

Steve snorts. "Great. Guess I'm going shopping, then."

“What, is that so bad?”

"Not _bad_," Steve says. "Just boring."

“I'm pretty sure you're anything but boring. But we can hit some shops if you want, while we're away.”

"Okay," Steve says. "Sounds like a deal. What are you doing today?"

“Just chilling, really. What about you?”

"Packing for this crazy trip I'm taking with this, like, totally hot supermodel?" Steve says. "My friends are convinced he's taking me out of the country to sell me into sexual slavery, though, so I'm debating on packing my panties. Don't wanna give him the wrong idea."

“God forbid he might just _like_ you,” Billy says.

"_Right?" _Steve asks, and Billy imagines him throwing his hand in the air. "It's like they think I can't make my own decisions."

“To be fair, you _are _going on a cross-Atlantic trip with someone you just met, pretty boy.”

"We've been talking for _months_, killer." Steve says. "Pretty sure I would've got the _he's gonna cut me into tiny pieces_ vibe a while back."

Billy shrugs, even though Steve can't see it. “Uh huh. Well, I guess I win out, in the end, so I can't exactly argue.”

"Guess we both do," Steve says, a bit sweet. "You hungry?"

“You angling for dinner, baby?”

"Nothing crazy," Steve says. "I'm just craving a burrito. I could bring some over-- or we could meet somewhere?"

“Would you want to come over? I'll give you five stars for delivery.”

"I could make that work. Just text me what you want and your address." Steve says. "Figure maybe we should _avoid _getting caught making out at a restaurant."

“I _do_ like being able to brag that you're on my arm,” Billy says. “Surprise me, food-wise. There's nothing I don't eat.”

Steve laughs a little. "You can show me off in New York and London, when I actually feel like dressing like a human. I'll see you soon?"

“Absolutely,” Billy says. “Let me slip into something more comfortable.”

Steve snorts. "Don't dress up on my account. I'm coming over in sweats and you can't stop me."

"Sounds like a dream, pretty boy. See you soon."

\--

True to form, Steve shows up in sweats and a varsity basketball shirt, two paper bags in hand. He's not wearing his glasses, but Billy doesn't really mind because he's got sunglasses on top of his head and it's making his hair stick up, and all Billy wants to do is reel him in and kiss him.

He doesn't, but he wants to.

The burrito Steve got him is _massive _and _really fucking good_. They eat on his balcony, beers between them, the setting sun on their faces. Steve tells him he found the most perfect hole in the wall Mexican place, and they make the best California Burrito he's ever had. Billy argues that real burritos shouldn't have fries in them.

He still takes a bite when Steve offers it up. He doesn't admit but it's _really _fucking good, too.

"I can't believe you live with a _view _like this," Steve tells him, looking out at hint of beach they can see from Billy's place between the other buildings, after they've finished eating and Billy returns with a couple more beers.

“It could be better,” Billy says. “But the view isn't so bad right now.” His eyes are on Steve, caught in the way the sun catches in Steve's hair.

Steve glances at him, mouth quirking, and he rolls his eyes. "Man, you're like made of _lines. _You gonna ask me if it hurt when I fell from heaven, too?"

“Mm, no. Angels wouldn't be such _jerks_,” Billy says. He leans in and presses his lips right next to Steve's ear.

Steve cackles, shuddering and shying away a little, rubbing at his ear. "Watch it-- I'm ticklish."

Billy laughs, delighted. He advances on Steve, pressing in, pressing close, aiming for that same spot again. “Why would you _tell_ me that?”

Steve gets a hand up to try and ward him off, turning his face away, grinning the whole time. "Well, I _thought _you wouldn't take advantage of that knowledge. But I forgot that you're a _dick."_

“Like you _wouldn't,”_ Billy says.

He presses a kiss to Steve's neck instead, when he can't reach next to his ear. Steve shudders again, lips parting as he takes a short breath. He lets Billy reel him in with an arm around his waist.

"I'm a _gentleman_," Steve insists, tilting his head over and reaching up with a hand to drag his fingers through Billy's hair. "I'd _never._"

Billy makes a pleased noise and ropes Steve a little closer, pushing into his space as the sea air ruffles their hair. “Oh, you absolutely _would_. You're _devious_.”

He noses up under Steve's jaw. Kisses at the heavy beat of Steve's pulse as they crowd close together on a chaise lounger. Steve pulls at his hair a little and trails his other hand down Billy's back.

"I'm _perfectly innocent_," Steve breathes. "An absolute _angel." _

Belying his words, Steve drags his nails over Billy's scalp.

Billy _grunts_. He twists a little, maneuvering so that Steve’s on top of him, hauling him over his lap until Steve is straddling him, pressing him down. Billy’s hands go to Steve’s thighs, fingers digging in.

“Yeah, a fucking angel who wants to get me arrested for, like, indecency,” Billy says, even though he very well could carry Steve inside at, like, _any_ time he wanted.

Steve’s breath catches, but settles his weight above him. Rests in his hold.

A smile is pressed to Billy’s cheek. Then a kiss. Steve peppers them along his cheekbone all the way to his ear, scratching at his scalp again and fisting his hand in the back of Billy’s shirt. Then, like the wicked human being he is, Steve shuffles in flush and _ruts_ his hips _down_.

“You think we’re gonna get _caught_, killer?” Steve asks, voice low in his ear.

Billy lets out a gasp, somehow caught _surprised_ by Steve. It’s not like Billy’s necessarily _trying_ to steer things away from sex, but he honestly figured Steve would want to take things slow. Billy’s fingers dig into the fabric of Steve’s sweats, like he’s trying to grab ahold -- or perhaps, like he’s trying to keep Steve there, to keep him from slipping away.

“There’s another building _right there_,” Billy says, but he doesn’t _mind_. It’s thrilling, really -- and even more thrilling that Steve’s the one who doesn’t care. “You an exhibitionist, baby?”

“Billy,” Steve says, biting at the shell of his ear, shifting against him. “I film myself getting off for a living. What do you think?”

Billy shudders at the bite, a cascade of goosebumps falling down his back, heating him up from the inside. Steve licks over the same spot a moment later and Billy groans with it, positively needy.

“I’d say that’s a job. You’re nice on screen, and you’re a real jerk in real life. So...” He rolls his hips up, hands sliding up to land on the jut of Steve’s hips.

“I’m not gonna blow you at a restaurant, but here-- here is fine. Here is safe.” Steve arches back a little to meet his eyes, fingers carding through the curls at the back of Billy’s head. “You need me to be _nice_ to you, killer?”

Billy chuckles. “I _need_ you to be whatever you wanna be,” he says. “Nice, mean, I’ll take it all.”

Steve stares at him for a second, eyes flitting between Billy’s. Quiet. _Awed_.

When Steve tugs again at his hair and pulls Billy into a kiss, Billy goes a little slack, melting into it as he digs his fingers into Steve’s hips to urge him forward. Steve kisses him a little hard, a bit desperate, breathing out a sound against his lips.

He rocks with the coaxing of Billy’s hands. Rolls his hips, slow but steady, against Billy’s. Billy can feel him through his sweatpants; can feel the twitch of his cock as it starts to fill out. It’s heady, dizzying, finally getting to feel Steve against him like this-- even between layers of clothes.

“Too nice to me,” Steve murmurs against his lips between heated presses of their mouths. “Don’t even know what to do with you.”

“I think,” Billy says, panting a little bit, “you should figure out if you wanna be nice or mean.”

He’s hard in his own sweatpants, and he feels like he’s getting impossibly harder every time Steve ruts up against him, the drag of fabric against his cock such a teasing, perfect relief.

“Nice,” Steve breathes, rocking down and then _grinding_ against him with perfect little swivels of his hips, tilting Billy’s head back with a hand under his jaw and cradling his nape with the other so that he can kiss at his chin. “I wanna be _nice_.”

Billy shivers with it, a little lost in how _gentle_ Steve’s being. It’s kind of impossible and absolutely _torture_, and Billy loves it. He absolutely eats it up. He opens his mouth to Steve, catching him in a kiss, wet and needy, unrestrained as he gasps out with each rut of Steve’s hips.

Steve sets a steady pace. He moves, sinuous and sinful, against him-- panting against his mouth as Billy parts Steve’s lips with his own in order to lick into his mouth. Their tongues slide, slick and lazy, against each other as Steve moans, bucking a little when Billy gets a hand at his lower back, fingertips teasing beneath the waistband of his sweats.

It’s such a _tease_. There’s nothing more Billy wants than to get his hands _all over_ Steve, but at the same time, there’s nothing he wants less, right now, than to stop exactly what they’re doing. He feels like, if he had to stop right now, he might _die_, it feels so good. He can feel Steve’s hard cock drag against his own, through teasing layers of fabric. It’s just what he wanted, and not _enough_ \-- and in that, somehow, it’s _perfect_.

“You really think,” Billy says, and then _groans_, interrupting his own words, “that making me come in my _pants_ is _nice_?”

“Don’t worry, killer.” Steve says, and then he’s picking up the pace, rocking a bit faster, practically riding down against him as his breath grows short, skin burning up under Billy’s touch. “I’ll come in my pants, too.”

“Oh,” Billy breathes out, “well if _that’s _the case.” But he can’t even bring himself to sound sarcastic enough, because it feels _that _good. “_Fuck_, baby,” Billy says.

He urges Steve’s hips down and bucks up at the same time, moaning at the drag. Steve gasps against his mouth. His hands find Billy’s shoulders, clutching tight.

“_Billy_,” he pants, voice tight, like maybe he’s already _close_. “_God_, don’t stop.”

His hips are stuttering against Billy’s. Rubbing and rutting, unabashedly needy.

It's so fucking _hot_. Billy's so close, and the sound of Steve getting closer and closer, enjoying it so much, is just edging Billy closer, too.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Billy says. “You gonna make a mess of yourself?”

“_Fuck_,” Steve hisses, and Billy can feel the bite of blunt nails at his shoulders, even through his shirt, as Steve jerks and nods his head. “Yeah. _Yes, _please, wanna-- Come with me. Come with me, Billy.”

Steve is pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to Billy’s mouth and against his jaw. His hips are stuttering, rhythm faltering.

Billy goes hot all over, pleasure cresting as Steve’s breathing hitches, as he moans out into Billy’s mouth. Billy eats it up, hungry, as he rides it out, hips rocking up to meet Steve's as he rocks through it, groaning out Steve's name.

Steve pulls away from Billy’s mouth to choke out a soft cry. Clutching at him and seizing through the crest of his orgasm. Billy can feel wet heat bloom in both of their pants, sticky and filthy. Can feel the way Steve goes slack in his lap, forehead to Billy’s brow, gasping into the space between their mouths.

“Jesus christ,” Steve huffs.

Billy grunts, still catching his breath. “Jesus, I haven't done that with someone since I was a _teen_.”

Steve laughs a little, eyes falling shut. "Should do that more often."

“You'd rather cream your pants than my hand, my _mouth_? Or _me_? I think I should feel offended,” Billy says.

Steve groans, shuddering in his lap. "Don't get me worked up, again."

Billy grins, though he feels loose and lazy and spent, not like he wants to rile Steve up again. Or, not _yet_, anyway.

“You just keep going and _going_, huh, baby?”

Billy muscles him down onto the lounge and curls next to his side, half laying on him, half holding him in. It feels indulgent, being this close to Steve, crazy that he actually gets to _have_ this.

Steve laughs as Billy maneuvers him over onto his side, still tangled up together, as Billy's weight settles over him.

He gets a hand back in Billy's hair and strokes. "I'm the Energizer bunny."

“_That_ should be your tagline,” Billy says. His eyes fall closed under the touch of Steve's fingertips. His own fingers slip underneath the hem of Steve's shirt to trace lazy shapes against the small of his back.

Steve hums. Arching a little, then wiggling, pressing in close and letting out a breath.

"_Fuck," _Steve says. "This is nice."

“Hell yeah, it is. And to think, I thought you might live like 500 miles away,” Billy says. “Or, you know, not actually be interested in dating me.”

Steve kisses Billy's brow. "Guess we both got lucky, then."

“Mm. I'd say I'm the lucky one, but you get to date _me_, so.”

Steve laughs against his forehead, giving his hair a little pull. "You didn't warn me about your _ego_."

A breath escapes from Billy's lips at the tug. “You couldn't _tell_? That's on _you_, baby. I was pretty up front about that.”

"_When?" _Steve asks, grinning, fingers twirling around one of Billy's curls.

“Pretty sure it goes along with my everything. Did you want me to spoon feed it to you?”

"Oh, _ouch_. You calling me dumb, killer?" Steve asks, teasing, but there's a touch of rigidity to Steve's spine when Billy trails his fingers up the curve of it.

Billy just chuckles. “_Dumb_ is the last thing I'd call you. Maybe you were just too dazzled by me to notice. Or maybe,” Billy says, thumbing over Steve's lower vertebrae as he talks, “maybe I just wanted you to think I was _nice_.”

Steve's breath catches a little. "You telling me you're _mean?" _Steve asks.

“Maybe,” Billy says. “Which do you like more?”

Steve shudders against him. "You can be mean sometimes."

Billy kisses by his ear, feeling so desperately fond. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Steve hums. "Wanna get cleaned up?"

“Probably,” Billy says with a hum, but he's feeling lazy and content. Though… “That means I get to see you in my clothes, doesn't it?”

"Unless you want me to walk around in the nude," Steve says.

Billy makes an affronted noise. “I have to _choose_?”

Steve laughs and shoves at his shoulder. "C'mon, killer. Shower. You can get me naked, then."

Billy doesn't need any more convincing.

\--

Billy has to fight every instinct to press Steve to his shower wall and touch every inch of him. His fingers flex at his sides the whole time, until Steve pours shampoo into his palm and gets his fingers in Billy's hair.

Then, he's got his hands on Steve's hips, thumbing at the jut of bone and tipping his head back as Steve helps him rinse the suds away. He lets his eyes shut, savoring the sensation of Steve close and treating him so _nicely_. He smiles when Steve kisses his chin.

Billy returns the favor of washing Steve's hair (that perfect fucking hair, finally getting his fingers in it) and kisses along his shoulder once he's clean.

It doesn't take much longer to get out of the shower, mostly because the temptation is too great and Billy doesn't want to spook Steve off when things are going so _well_. So he steps out and wraps them both in fluffy towels and then leads Steve into his bedroom.

When Billy sets out one of his shirts and a pair of boxers, Steve raises a brow. "Am I staying the night?"

It’s honestly a little surprising. It’s not that Billy hadn’t _thought_ about it, hadn’t wanted it -- it’s just that he figured Steve wouldn’t want to. He figured that Steve would draw some sort of line, especially considering they were leaving so soon.

“Do you want to?” Billy asks, trying not to sound too stupidly hopeful.

"Well, I'd need pants if I was going to leave," Steve says, smiling. "But if you're not going to give them to me, I guess I'm stuck here, aren't I?"

Billy huffs out a laugh. He had already decided just which pants he was going to give Steve -- a pair of soft, royal blue sweats so threadbare from years of wear. They would've fit Steve just right, and then Billy would've been able to run his fingers over the soft material -- but he's good at changing plans, he's all for it if it means he gets to play up a ruse that means Steve’ll _stay. _

“What can I say? I'm mean. Wanting to keep you naked, wanting to get you into my bed.”

Steve laughs, standing there in Billy's room, still flush and damp from the shower. "I guess I have no other choice than to stay, don't I?"

“Definitely. You tired, or do you wanna watch something?”

He knows Steve is a night owl. Just like how he knows he's an early riser.

Steve shrugs. “I wanna watch something if you do.”

“Sure,” Billy says. “Horror? Comedy? Action adventure?”

He herds Steve toward his bed and throws off the covers. There's a flatscreen on the opposite wall, and even if Billy rarely watches TV while in bed, it's set up for any streaming service he could possibly want.

"Horror," Steve says decisively, grabbing up Billy's boxers, and sliding them on as he drops his towel, then he pulls Billy's shirt on over his head.

Billy just puts on boxers, because he doesn't sleep in a shirt _and_ it gives an excuse to show off his hard-earned chest.

He slides into bed, pushing his way between the sheets, and pats the spot next to him.

“I've been meaning to rewatch Hill House, have you seen it?”

"Love it," Steve says, crawling into bed next to him, and settling next to him against the headboard.

Steve fits so perfectly in next to him. Billy curls in close and starts up the first episode. He's barely paying attention to anything but the warmth of Steve against his skin and the way he smells like Billy -- his shampoo, his conditioner, his soap.

Steve tucks in close, humming out a satisfied sound. He wiggles his feet under the sheets, toes creeping under Billy's calves. He shifts a little and then snakes his arm over Billy's shoulders, fingers idly playing with the curls at the back of his head.

"This okay?" he asks.

Billy's not usually the one with an arm over his shoulders, but it's nice. It's _warm_. He likes that this thing with Steve feels _even_, like they're both on solid footing. Billy shifts a little, curling more around Steve, leaning against Steve's shoulder.

“‘S perfect,” Billy says. “Best pillow. Nine out of ten.”

"Only a nine?" Steve asks, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Where's my hot chocolate? Or a mint on my pillow?” Billy hums. “You gotta work for that ten, baby.”

Steve snorts. "It's _your_ house."

“Yeah?” Billy says. “_And_?”

"Shouldn't _you_ be making _me _hot chocolate and giving _me _mints?" Steve asks.

“No, see, I'm too pretty to get out of bed,” Billy says, feeling tired and pleased as _Hill House_ buzzed along quietly in the background. “I'm a catch, and should, like, be doted on.” He grins, even though Steve can't see it.

"You're a handful, is what you are," Steve huffs, rustling Billy's hair.

“Not going to argue with _that_,” Billy says, letting his eyes slip closed, shifting a bit so that his head presses against Steve's chest, so he can hear the steady beating of Steve's heart with every breath.

Steve relaxes under him. Lets him curl into his side and goes easy. Cards his fingers, idle, through Billy's hair, and reaches for one of Billy's wrists to drag his arm over his waist, tangling them up.

Billy drifts like that for a while. Until the sound of the show quiets in his head, all of him focused on the slow beat of Steve's heart in his head. All of him focused on the _warmth_, the comfort.

He doesn't _mean_ to fall asleep. He wants to stay up with Steve -- but it's late, he's spent, and he's just too comfortable.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he does, curled up and content, with Steve in his arms.

\--

Waking up with _King Steve _in his bed is kind of glorious. Steve's gorgeous on a regular day, but in his sleep, tucked up against Billy he's _breathtaking. _

His hair is a mess, one leg outside of the sheets, fingers curled into the sheets. His mouth is slack and his eyelashes dark against the crest of his cheek bones.

He snores. Not loudly, but he snores. Billy kind of adores him.

Especially when he snuffles, nose twitching, and his feet flex as he draws his knees up a little, like he's trying to curl into a ball.

Billy lets him. Steve tucks himself up, and then Billy curls around him, just because he _can_, because it feels a little bit like he's stealing this moment away for himself -- a time when he can just relax, and be, and enjoy. He pushes his nose against the back of Steve's neck, and then presses a kiss there, arm curling around Steve's waist to pull him close.

Like that, he dozes until Steve starts to stir again, nudging against Billy's nose, jerking him out of a very nice dream where they were just like this, but spread out on a beach.

Billy's wormed his hand under Steve's shirt to get at skin. His belly is warm under his palm and Steve stretches a little against him and groans. Billy's fingers splay over Steve's sleep-hot skin, seeking out that heat like a snake. Seeking closeness, seeking _more_.

“Morning, baby,” Billy murmurs out, only half awake, more than pleased about dreaming about Steve and then getting to _actually_ wake up next to him.

Steve hums, twisting a little to nose at his cheek. "Morning."

He sounds tired. Or maybe that's just Billy, still foggy with sleep. He doesn't know what time Steve eventually fell asleep, with their differing sleep schedules -- for all he knows, Steve just fell asleep an hour ago.

That doesn't stop Billy from pulling his fingers along the taut lines of Steve's stomach, trailing over his abs, the hair that dusts along his happy trail.

“Sleep well?” Billy asks.

Steve grunts, the muscles of his abdomen jumping, his spine curving like he's trying to get away. "Pretty good, yeah. You?"

Billy hums. “Forgot you were ticklish.” He deepens his touch a bit, so it's not quite so light. “I did. Sleep better when someone else is around, I think.”

Steve shivers and drags his nose against Billy's cheek. "Me too. You're _warm_, though."

“That bad?” Billy asks, pressing a little closer. He hooks a leg around Steve's and tangles the two of them up even more.

"Not _bad_," Steve says. "Just _warm." _

“Could make you _warmer_,” Billy offers, and presses a lazy kiss to Steve's neck.

Steve groans, head lulling over. "You trying to get in my pants, killer?"

“I am ninety-five percent certain you’re not wearing pants,” Billy says, pressing another kiss to newly exposed skin.

Steve snorts out a laugh. "Only ninety-five percent?"

Billy’s fingers drift down to drag over the waistband of the boxers he gave Steve. “You could’ve gotten up in the middle of the night and raided my closet for sweats. I’m a heavy sleeper.”

Steve hums. "Kinda hard to escape your octopus arms."

“Mm, you complaining, pretty boy?”

"Nah," Steve smiles, twisting around to press in flush-- arms slipping around Billy's waist. "Not a bit. Clingy is cute."

Billy laughs. He can’t help it. Never once has he been described as _clingy_. He usually tries very hard to cultivate an air of standoffishness that generally dissuade people from ever getting the impression he’s _clingy_. But then again -- Billy’s not sure he’s ever been as into someone as he’s into Steve.

“Clingy, huh?” Billy says, as Steve pushes closer. “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.”

"You kidding?" Steve asks, genuinely curious, smiling bright. "You wouldn't let me go."

Billy shrugs, though it’s hard while he’s holding Steve. “Not many people stay over.”

It’s a little easier than outright saying _I’m just that fucking into you, I think._

"Huh," Steve says, and Billy doesn't think he's imagining that Steve sounds pleased.

Steve wiggles in closer, impossibly so, and nudges at Billy's nose with his own. His hands splay out over Billy's back and his eyes close, a content hum welling up from his chest.

"I'd kiss you, but morning breath is the _worst," _Steve mumbles.

“Is it gross if I say you can use my toothbrush?”

Steve grins, sleepy, eyes still shut. "How old is it?"

“Jesus, you’re picky,” Billy says. “Do I have to go buy you a toothbrush, just to be able to kiss you good morning?”

"Maybe," Steve squints an eye open. "Guess it depends on how bad you wanna kiss me good morning."

“Okay, what about you use my toothbrush this one time, you drama queen, then I buy you a _new_ toothbrush with the hope you don't get tired of me two days into our trip.”

"I do _have _a toothbrush at my apartment, you know." Steve says. "One that I plan on packing."

Billy shoves him a little. “I meant for here. So you can stay over again.”

Steve smiles. "Yeah, okay. That'll work."

It's then that Billy rips the covers off of them, exposing both of their bare legs -- and Billy's bare torso -- to the cool air of his room.

“Up,” he demands, because firstly, he's not one for lazing in bed all day, and secondly, he just really wants to kiss Steve. Maybe pull him into the shower again.

Steve shivers, curling in on himself with a yelp. "_God_, you're a _morning person._"

Billy moves, straddling Steve, pressing him down into the sheets while peppering his sleep-warm skin with kisses. “You bet your ass I am. Now: _up_. I'll blow you in the shower if you get up in the next two minutes.”

And with that, Billy rolls off of him and pads to the bathroom to start brushing his teeth.

He's finished by the time Steve finally pads in. Sleep mussed and rubbing over his face, groaning at the light in Billy's bathroom.

"You're lucky you're hot," Steve grumbles, taking the toothbrush after Billy rinses it in the sink.

“Your tongue has been in my _mouth_,” Billy says, leaning against the counter just to watch Steve brushing his teeth.

It's so fucking _domestic _and _cute_ that Billy doesn't know what to do with himself.

So he leans forward, presses his lips to the corner of Steve's jaw, and says “I'm pretty sure I'm still dreaming.”

He lingers for a second, then pulls back to turn on the shower.

Steve spits into the sink, catching some water in his mouth and swishing it around for a second before straightening back out. "I was mostly talking about the fact that it's before 8am."

“You can't really be a night owl and do modeling. Too many sunrise shoots,” Billy says, kicking off his boxers. “Too much time at the gym. Are you coming?” He reaches out a hand toward Steve, palm open, tugging him to the shower once Steve's fingers slip into his own.

Steve groans as the hot water pours down on top of him. Eyes falling shut, head lulling back.

"This modeling thing sounds worse and worse," Steve says. "You're not selling it very well."

“Okay, but your body is perfect already, so it’s not like you would need to go to the gym,” Billy says, pressing close to Steve, like it’s somehow _easier_ to do with the heat of the water around them. Like that gives him a reasonable excuse to be so close, to get his hands all over Steve.

Steve shudders, hands finding Billy's biceps, eyes fluttering open, water clinging to his lashes. "Yeah, but I'll have to find a new way to burn calories if I'm not streaming anymore."

“_I heard_,” Billy says, “that getting off really burns calories.”

"_Yeah," _Steve says, grin crooked. "But how will I get off that _much_? Any ideas?"

“My stamina is _pretty great_,” Billy says, and then lowers himself to his knees in front of Steve, spray of water falling over his head, plastering his hair to his face.

"_Billy_," Steve gasps on a laugh. "You don't actually have to blow me."

Up close, Steve’s dick is _real_ pretty.

He looks up, blinking water out of his eyes. “Do you _not_ want me to? Because I _want_ to.”

Steve shudders when Billy places his hands on his hips, eyes wide as he stares down at him. "Jesus christ. _Yeah_. I want it."

It takes zero effort to get his lips around Steve while he’s still a little soft, to swallow him down like a treat. He’s so slick and he tastes like water, and Billy eats him up, instantly hard himself. He’s been waiting _months_ to get just a taste of Steve, and now he’s able to eat his fill. Steve’s fingers immediately go to Billy’s hair, and it feels _good_. It urges Billy forward, taking more of Steve into his mouth, licking over him until he’s hard under Billy’s tongue.

Steve's fingers curl tight in his hair and then flex out apologetically over his scalp. He gasps out, a hand slapping against the tiled wall to brace himself. His cock is heavy and warm in Billy's mouth, on his tongue, twitching when Billy slips his hands behind Steve's thighs and urges him closer with a sharp tug.

"Oh, _fuck," _Steve breathes, curving over a little, keeping the spray from the showerhead out of Billy's face.

With a smile, a pleased fucking _grin_, Billy takes him deeper. He lets his hands snake up and up the back of Steve’s thighs until he’s cupping Steve’s ass with both of his hands, grabbing his cheeks with a teasing satisfaction.

Steve _whines_. His lashes flutter, eyes rolling up for a second, and his hips buck.

"_Billy_," he says, already short of breath and flush, like it's just that _good_ for him-- like _Billy's_ just that good that it knocked him breathless. "_Jesus_\-- fuck, you're-- _god_, Billy, your _mouth_\--"

And Billy _knows _his mouth is great. He _knows_ he knows how to give stellar head. But it’s real nice hearing it from Steve. The words sink into his gut, heat curling inside him. It urges him to do it _better_, to take Steve deeper.

As encouragement, he tightens his grip on Steve’s ass, squeezing, pulling his cheeks apart.

Steve's hips start moving then. One stuttering thrust, then another, nice and shallow like he's trying to keep himself from falling right over the edge.

His abdomen has pulled tight. His thighs are already trembling a little, toes curling against the tile floor. His cock pulses in Billy's mouth and then twitches against his tongue when Billy's fingers tease between his cheeks.

Steve groans and pulls at Billy's hair. "God, Billy, _please_. Gonna come _way-- _fuck, _way too fast _if you--"

Like there’s any higher compliment.

Billy takes that as the challenge it clearly is. He kneads Steve ass with one more squeeze, before he lets his fingers graze over Steve’s hole as he swallows him down. He applies some pressure, urging Steve to move his hips, to fuck Billy’s face.

"_Jesus fucking…" _the next word falls right off, right into a _sweet _moan as Steve's hips lurch into an unsteady motion.

His hand falls from the wall in order to clutch at Billy's shoulder, the weight anchoring Billy down so he can hold Steve steady as he moves. The fingers in his hair card back and then fist a little tighter as he pulls Billy back a bit, cock dragging over his tongue, and then thrusts back in-- then does it again. Then does it _again_.

Fucks past the stretch of Billy's lips around him, hips rolling and grip firm but kind.

When Billy looks up at him through his lashes, he sees Steve's mouth has fallen open. That his brows are pinched, like he's caught in the best kind of agony. That his pupils are blown and his cheeks are pink.

"_Please," _Steve gasps, staring down at Billy and _only Billy_, suffering so sweetly for _only Billy _to see. "Yes, yes, _please, Billy, _yes."

Permission and a plea all in one.

Gently, Billy presses in with one of his fingers. There's no lube, just water, but Steve _does_ this. His body knows how to take the press of a finger, clearly. Regardless, Billy's still careful with it, _slow_, as he hears the low groan that starts in Steve's throat echoes against marble tile.

He's so _sinfully _hot. So tight as pleasure quakes up through him. Billy can feel how he _spasms_. How he _shakes_.

"_Billy," _Steve says, voice low, still fucking into his mouth. "Billy, I'm gonna come."

Billy moans around Steve's cock, a _yes_ that's so brutal and needy that Billy feels it in his gut. He presses in, just a little bit more, angles his finger, and swallows around Steve as Steve's hips buck.

Steve winds taut. He cries out, the sound rattling around them, and claws at Billy's shoulder as his hips jerk once, twice--

And then Billy's mouth is flooded with _heat_. Thick and sticky, heady on his tongue. Steve's cock kicks and pulses, and he spasms around Billy's finger as he spills out. Billy swallows him down easy, milking him through it with his tongue, with the heat of his mouth. Slowly, he slides his finger from inside Steve and cups Steve’s ass as he jerks through the last bit of his orgasm, coming down from that high of pleasure.

Steve pulls at his hair after a minute. Whimpering, cock softening against his tongue, leaning his weight more fully on him.

"_Billy,"_ Steve says, voice rough and shaking.

After a second, Billy lets Steve pull him off by the hair, reveling in the tug of it, the pleasant bite of pain making him groan as he looks up at Steve with watery eyes.

“Enjoy yourself?” Billy asks, voice a little rough.

Steve's entire body shudders as he stands there, panting and still twitching. Then, he reaches down and gets both hands on Billy's arms, hauling him up onto his feet, catching him as he stumbles a little-- even if that means tumbling into the wall.

Steve's arms slip around his middle, tugging him close, and he catches Billy's mouth with his own. Licking past his lips and his teeth to taste himself in Billy's mouth.

"_Fuck," _Steve moans against his mouth, fisting his hand in Billy's hair again to angle his head. "Jesus _christ_, Billy."

Billy can’t help but feel a little dizzy from it all as he loses himself in the kiss. He feels so good, so already blissed-out, even though Steve hasn’t even gotten a hand on him yet.

“Is it bad,” Billy says, “if I want to spend, like, _all day_ getting you off?”

Steve whines, somewhere from the back of his throat, and kisses him _hard. _His hands are _everywhere_, sliding over wet skin, pulling and tugging, like he's trying to get Billy _closer_.

"Shut _up," _Steve hisses, snaking a hand between them, fingers wrapping around the hard length of Billy's cock; it _throbs _as Steve touches him. "_God. _It's like you're _actually _trying to kill me with your _stupid_ mouth."

Billy crumples against Steve, folding into him as the first waves of pleasure hit him. His knees wobble, and he loops an arm around Steve’s waist, for the closeness, for the _heat_.

“_Fuck_,” he breathes out, against Steve’s lips. “Ugh, don’t see why you’d -- _ah_ \-- complain.”

Steve bites at his lower lip, twisting his wrist, pumping over him with steady, sure strokes. "Swear to god-- I'm gonna ride you until your eyes roll back and you _pop_ like warm champagne."

Billy groans, hips bucking against Steve’s hand. His eyes slide closed and he lets his face fall against Steve’s neck, water streaming over his hair, his face, his eyes.

“You keep talkin’ like that -- _fuck_,” he breathes out, lips biting at the skin of Steve’s neck, “and I’m gonna _pop right now_.”

"_Good_," Steve says, a little vicious, a lot heated-- pace picking up as his teeth graze at Billy's ear. "Want you to. Want you to come in my hand, killer. Wanna feel it, wanna _hear _you. Wanna get on my knees and let you come on my _face._"

Billy doesn’t normally come quickly. But he also doesn’t normally have _Steve’s_ hand on his dick or Steve’s mouth at his ear.

He doesn’t usually have Steve making a wishlist of the sexiest things Billy’s ever wanted.

It should be a surprise that when Steve tells him to _come_, he comes.

But it’s not.

The orgasm hits him so easily, so fluidly, curling in his gut, making his body go tense as waves of pleasure wash over him as he spills himself into Steve’s hand. Steve holds him through it, arm around his waist, his other hand still working him over. Working him through the aftershocks as he slows the pace, bringing him back down nice and easy.

Steve kisses at the soft spot below his ear. "Enjoy yourself?"

Billy’s fingers are clutched tight at Steve’s waist, right at his hip. He loosens his grip slightly and lets his fingers slide apologetically over shower-slick skin.

He grunts something close to an affirmative and presses a kiss to Steve’s neck.

“Think you’re gonna be the death of me, pretty boy,” Billy says, after a minute, after they’ve washed the spunk off of Steve’s hand, after Billy’s soaped up Steve thoroughly with a bodywash that smells like _Billy_.

Steve's smile is dopey and pleased. "Pretty sure _you_ were the one threatening to spend all day getting me off like some kind of sex demon."

“Don’t knock my _hobbies_, baby,” Billy says.

"Oh, it's a _hobby_, now?" Steve asks, laughing as Billy twists him under the shower spray. "Does it really count as a _hobby_ if you've only done it a couple times?"

Billy makes a disgruntled noise. He presses a kiss to Steve’s dripping wet neck. There’s still some suds there, but he doesn’t care.

“Now you’re telling me I can’t explore new interests? Jeez, Steve, I thought you would support me, here.”

"I mean, I _guess_ I don't have anything _else _to do today," Steve says, sighing, like a total _brat._

Billy’s stomach _jumps_. He hadn’t actually meant today. And he figured Steve would want to keep this all going slow. Or -- slow_ish_, considering all of it.

“You _would_ sleep well on the plane, tomorrow,” Billy says, instead.

Steve's fingers drum a second against Billy's ribcage, then his hand smoothes up his side. "Yeah, about that…"

Billy feels something knot inside of him, for a fraction of a second, as Steve clears his throat.

"Two things," Steve says. "I _am _going to need to finish packing at some point. And I got a _text _with some _first class tickets_ that have my name on them."

Billy feels Steve pull at his hair. He pulls back to meet his gaze and see the frown on Steve's face.

"I can't _afford_ first class, Billy."

“I mean, I’d be paying for it. It’s my trip that you’re coming on,” he says with a shrug. “So, not a problem.”

He reaches up and pushes some of Steve’s hair out of his face for him, trying to ignore the twisting in his gut. It helps that Steve leans blindly into his touch, eyes going a little heavy.

"_Yeah," _Steve breathes. "I don't, uh. I don't know how I _feel _about that."

Billy feels his eyebrows furrow. “I don’t mind paying. I mean, this way we get to sit together, you know?”

"No, yeah, I know, just--" Steve wets his lips, wincing as he glances away. "It just… It feels a bit too much like I'm being _bought_. And-- and you don't have to _do _that."

_That_ has Billy pulling back, a sinking acidity settling into his stomach. He doesn’t want Steve thinking that. That’s _not_ what he’s doing.

It’s not. Right?

“That’s not --” Billy says. Then: “We can switch your ticket and, like --" He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think. The hotel rooms are _expensive. _Fuck. “Re-book rooms.”

"_Hey_," Steve reaches for him, smile small, big eyes kind as he smooths his hands over Billy's chest. "It's _fine. _This time, it's okay. It's last minute, and, like, it's-- it's not a big deal. But, like, in the future? Just… keep that in mind?"

Billy clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together for just a second. “You know that’s not what I’m doing. Right? I need you to know that.”

"Logically? Of _course_. I'd have to be stupid _and_ blind to think you'd need to _buy _anyone's affections-- let alone _mine._" Steve sighs, pulling Billy back closer, mouth twisting up and pressing thin. "But you know when something just-- I dunno, it's probably just a me thing. Like, someone does something nice, and your head just takes off trying to come up with a million reasons _why _and not all of them are _good_."

“If I met you in the club, or on a shoot, or in a fucking Starbucks -- I’d want to date you,” Billy says. He lets his hand find Steve’s shoulder. “I mean, I _get it_. We didn’t start at the world’s most _normal_ place for dating, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work our way back to normal, right?”

A smile works its way back onto Steve's face. "Right. I'd like that."

“Maybe spending all day getting you off isn’t… the best start to that.”

"Probably," Steve says, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek, lingering there with his nose pressed to the side of Billy's face, catching one of Billy's hands and lacing their fingers. "Rain check? I mean, it does sound like a _really _fun time."

“Rain check,” Billy says, still feeling a little bad, but glad to at least be on similar pages. “We should probably get out of the shower, huh?”

"Unless you're really into pruney fingers."

“Definitely not,” Billy says.

He leans back and rinses the final few suds from his eyes, and steps out of the shower, handing Steve a fluffy white towel before he grabs his own. He watches Steve dry himself off and wrap his towel around his waist. He only looks away when Steve glances at him-- like a teenager, afraid of getting caught.

He scrubs his towel through his hair, only stopping when he feels hands on his. He looks up and finds Steve there. Tilts his head and meets his mouth when Steve leans in to kiss him.

"I really like you, Billy Hargrove," Steve says, soft.

“I really fucking like you too,” Billy says, barely even a whisper back.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite Billy's newly risen concerns, the flight goes smoothly. Steve looks perfect in first class, and Billy hasn't ever had much company on planes, which makes the whole thing way more enjoyable.

Once they land in New York, they barely have time to breathe. They're shuttled to the hotel, where Billy drops Steve off at the room, kisses him goodbye, and then leaves Steve with the promise to return in a couple hours after a meeting and a fitting Billy has to attend.

He's back before he knows it, pushing his way back into the suite, unsure if Steve will even _be_ there. After all, there's the whole hotel, and then the whole _city. _Billy mentioned Steve could go explore, if he wanted, and Billy would either wait up for him or come join him, if Steve wanted.

“Honey, I'm home,” Billy says, loud, as the door clicks closed behind him.

"In here!"

Steve's voice comes from further in the small suite. Billy follows it into the bedroom to find Steve splayed face down on the bed, wrapped up in the _fluffiest_ robe Billy thinks he's ever seen.

He's fucking adorable. And hot. But Billy tries to focus more on that first one.

“You take a bath?”

"It had _jets_," comes the half muffled reply.

“Yeah?” Billy says.

He wanders forward and gently ghosts his fingers over Steve's foot. He wants to crawl over Steve, wants to press him down into the bed and taste how clean his skin is. Instead, he sits at Steve's feet.

"_Yeah," _Steve nudges at his thigh with his toes, head popping up, hair everywhere. "Hi. How was your afternoon?"

Billy grabs at his foot and loosely touches it. Not quite a massage, but close.

“Good. Busy. Too much running around. Flying always exhausts me. You do anything other than take a bath?”

"Total honesty? Nope. I think I took a nap?" Steve says, moaning a little when Billy digs his thumb into his arch. "But it could've really just been one long blink."

“I think you probably needed the sleep,” Billy says with a laugh, fingers digging in a bit more, because Steve clearly likes the massage.

Steve groans, head hanging between his shoulders, toes curling. "I think you're gonna _spoil_ me."

“You should be spoiled,” Billy says.

He wants to spoil Steve _more_, but now there's like imaginary line in the sand. Billy's unsure what's _too much_, unsure of what could look like he's trying to _buy_ Steve.

Steve glances over his shoulder at him, smile lopsided, arms folded under his chest. He nudges at Billy's knee with his other foot.

"Keep doing what you're doing and I just might _let _you," Steve says.

Billy just huffs out a laugh and grabs Steve's other foot, to give it the same treatment.

“You in the mood for anything in particular for dinner?” he asks.

Steve lets himself go boneless on the bed. He keeps letting out these tempting, breathy noises. Billy wants to coax more and more out of him.

"What's, like, a New York staple?" Steve asks.

“Pizza, maybe. Just good food, really. Tomorrow morning we can get bagels, though. _That's _a staple.”

Billy digs his thumb into Steve's heel, just to hear the low noise it drags out of Steve's throat. It's like a _drug_.

Steve even arches a little and shudders as Billy drags his touch up the edge of his foot. It's _lovely._

"Pizza is good," Steve breathes, then sucks in a sharp sound. "Oh, _fuck, _right there."

It's a horrible fucking tease, Billy thinks, as he watches Steve go a little loose on the bed, pretty little noises falling out of his mouth. But he's happy to do this, to spoil Steve in a way that doesn't involve money, and in a way that makes it clear that Billy isn't, like, using him for sex.

“Pizza it is,” Billy agrees, then, which is great, because pizza is cheap and easy and also doesn't look like he's trying to wine and dine Steve.

Steve moans again. Lays there, eyes shut, feet in Billy's lap. He twitches as Billy works a hand up one of his calves, groaning long and low.

"_God_, you've got great hands," Steve mumbles. "We ordering in or going out?"

“Which would you prefer?” Billy asks, holding Steve's leg steady as he finds a knot and slowly presses it out.

Steve spasms on the bed, breathing out another sounds that is absolute temptation. "In. Still tired of people from the airport. Crowds freak me out sometimes."

“Mm. Hungry now, or wait a while?” Billy asks.

Staying in sounds _good_. He always had to put on airs at meetings, be on his best behavior. It's exhausting.

Steve hums as Billy starts in on his other calf. Totally limp. Totally lax and vulnerable, all for Billy. Billy wants Steve like this, trusting him, always.

"Later," Steve turns his head over, eyes fluttering open as he props himself up on his elbows. "C'mere."

Billy waits a moment, if only to work over Steve's leg a little so he's more _even_. Then, he kicks off his shoes and crawls up the bed to lay down next to Steve on his side.

“Hey,” Billy says, eyes on just how soft Steve looks right now.

"Hi, killer." Steve twists over, half onto his side, one leg dragging over the sheets so he can hook his ankle behind Billy's knee and draw him closer across the bed; he reaches out and thumbs at the buttons on Billy's shirt. "You're overdressed."

Billy huffs, putting on his most _offended_ pout. “Excuse you, I have a _dinner date_. Dress to impress.”

"Uh huh," Steve shuffles closer on the bed, thumbing the top button of his shirt open and smoothing it out of the way, dipping in and placing a simple, chaste kiss to his collar. "Well, color me impressed. But I'm _never_ taking off this robe again."

Billy shivers with the kiss, warmth pooling in his gut. It’s something so simple, so chaste, but Steve just _gets_ him like that, so _easy_.

“You can buy those,” Billy says, even though what he really _means_ is: _I’d buy it for you in a heartbeat_. “Is your silk robe not more comfortable, though?”

"It's a different kind of comfortable," Steve says, working another button open, mouth pressing to his skin. "This one is like a cloud."

Billy should _probably_ stop Steve from popping another button open, but he’s greedy for the press of Steve’s lips to his chest. He’s still warm from the bath, body temperature up, and Billy seeks it out like a snake to sun.

“You look good in it,” Billy says. “You look real relaxed.”

Steve hums against his skin, popping another button open and sneaking his hand into Billy's shirt to fan his fingers out over his side. "I _feel _real relaxed. Could fall asleep, just like this."

“We could nap, if you wanna,” Billy suggests, stretching a little until his legs intertwine with Steve's at the ankles.

"You wanna?" Steve asks, working the rest of the buttons open and pushing Billy's shirt over his shoulders, kissing along his collar to the hollow of his throat. "Snuggle up with me? Sleep at unreasonable hours?"

It’s nearly impossible to not let Steve’s kissing warm the blood in his veins, a lazy sort of _want_ curling in his belly. He’s powerless to stop -- mostly because he doesn’t _want_ to. He wants Steve’s lips on him, wants Steve’s hands on him -- so goddamn greedy for it.

So, Billy presses in a bit, sliding a little closer, to share in Steve’s relaxed body heat.

“Mm. That sounds like a good plan,” Billy says, looping his arm around Steve, fingers burying in the soft cotton of the robe.

Steve tips his head up and kisses under Billy's jaw as Billy draws him across the bed, until they're flush, Steve's hands smoothing over his sides and then down his stomach. "Get your pants off and get under the covers with me, then."

He shivers as Steve touches him, arching into his fingers, opening himself up for more.

“If I take my pants off and get under the covers,” Billy says, “I’ll sleep for _hours_. Straight through dinner.”

"Is there a _cap _on pizza ordering in New York?" Steve asks, fingers teasing at his belt. "I thought this was the city that never slept."

Billy laughs and bats Steve’s hand away from his belt. “I’m not eating dinner at one in the morning. That’ll fuck my metabolism _and_ my sleep schedule up.”

Steve pulls back a little, meeting Billy's gaze with a smile. "Yeah, but it would be _really _good."

Billy makes a whining sound. “It _would_, but I have to shoot tomorrow. I’d be all bloated.”

"Okay, okay," Steve laughs, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Keep your pants on."

Billy pulls Steve a little closer. “Who needs blankets when you’re _wearing_ one, hm?”

Steve jumps, squeaking when Billy sneaks a hand into his robe-- getting at skin with chilly fingertips. His skin is _so warm_. So soft.

"_Billy_," Steve hisses, shoving at his shoulder. "Your hands are _cold."_

“You’re supposed to warm them up, then,” Billy says, splaying his fingers wide over Steve’s ribs. Teasing.

"You're _evil_," Steve grunts, but shuffles in closer anyway.

“Absolutely,” Billy agrees, and lets his eyes slide closed. “You gonna wake me up in an hour if I conk out?”

Steve hums. "Wake you up nice and sweet. Promise."

Billy hums. It’s easy to agree to a nap when Steve is right there, warm and pulling him under. “Not too long,” Billy murmurs, face at Steve’s neck, before he lets himself go loose, drifting.

"Not too long," Steve promises.

\--

When Billy comes to again, it's with Steve curled up in his arms. It's with fingers in his hair and a mouth pressed to his brow.

He grunts and hauls Steve closer, feeling bare skin against his own.

"You up, killer?" Steve asks.

“Am now,” he says, still feeling foggy with sleep.

The room is dark as he blinks his eyes open, sun having set already. Billy’s fingers trail up Steve’s back, over his ribs, his spine, his shoulders. “No robe?” Billy murmurs.

Steve hums. "Got too warm."

Billy’s still waking up, slow. He blinks a little, his hand drifting back down Steve’s spine.

“Are you naked?”

Steve shivers against him. "What, you've never slept naked?"

The robe is draped over his hips, though. Fanned out over his legs and bunched up at his thighs. Eventually Billy’s fingers reach it, touching against the soft cotton of it, bunching a little.

“I do. Sometimes. Would’ve just been a hell of a sight to wake up to.”

Steve kisses his forehead. "What's stopping you from looking?"

Which is kind of laughable, because _Billy_ is the only one stopping himself from looking. But he doesn’t want Steve to think Billy’s just using him for sex, that that’s all he’s interested in. Because while he _is_ into everything they could possibly do together under the covers _and_ over them, he wants so much _more_ than that.

“Pizza, mostly,” he says, even though he’s not really _that_ hungry.

Steve snorts, squeezing him tight. "Let's get food, then."

The pizza, when they get it, is great. They sprawl on bed, turn on Netflix, and eat to their hearts’ content. When Billy suggests sleep afterward, because he has to get up early, Steve only rolls his eyes and complains about being a night owl.

Billy falls asleep to the dulcet sounds of David Attenborough narrating something about rainforests, volume low, his head pillowed on Steve’s shoulder.

\--

The next day, Steve accompanies Billy to his shoot. It’s an all-day affair, but at least they provide lunch. Afterward, they hit up a museum and then stop by a small cafe for dinner.

Steve's kind of vibrating out of his skin. Has been, since the shoot. Billy's taken with the way Steve talks with his hands, the way his face lights up when he's talking and asking questions about the entire shoot afterwards. In the car, at the museum, in the cafe.

Honestly, it's the most fun Billy's had on a job in a long time.

"So how long have you been doing this?" Steve inevitably asks while picking at his chicken. "Like, because you know what you're doing. I kinda noticed with Jonathan, but even today they didn't, like, shout at you to _love the camera_ or any of that cliche shit."

“A while. I started in college. The more you do it, the more you're aware of your angles, the light, how your body is perceived by the viewer. I mean, it's like you, too. You know what's gonna look best on camera, right? It becomes so second nature that you don't even need to think about it.”

Steve shrugs. "I mean, I guess I can see the similarities. Mostly I just have to keep myself in frame-- it was harder, at the beginning, because I didn't want anyone seeing my face."

“That would be hard. What made you change your mind about that?” Billy asks.

"I quit slinging coffees and made it full time," Steve shrugs. "Figured it didn't matter if someone recognized me on the street-- which has never happened, by the way-- but when I was still doing that I had this fear that I'd take someone's order and they'd call me _King Steve_."

Billy laughs and wants, suddenly and desperately, to kiss Steve. So he leans over the little cafe table and pecks Steve on the corner of the lips.

“_King Steve,”_ Billy murmurs.

Steve groans, blushing as he rolls his eyes. "Shut up. Oh, my god."

“It's cute. You were such an asshole in high school. I love it.”

"You didn't even _know _me," Steve grouses. "You don't _know_."

“You went by _King Steve_, that’s all I need to know,” Billy says. “It’s cute, don’t complain.”

Steve hides a groan in a hand. "You're incorrigible."

“That's why you like me,” Billy says, stealing a bite of Steve's food. “So, what do you wanna do after this? Walk? Get dessert? Go back to the hotel?”

Steve watches him as he chews, as he swallows, eyes darting over his face. "Walk back to the hotel and get dessert in the room?"

“The hotel has this dark chocolate mousse to _die_ for,” Billy offers.

Steve grins. "Oh, to _die_ for, huh? That sounds like a dream."

“We’ll see if it measures up to the fluffy robe, though,” Billy says. “No promises.”

Steve hums. "Guess we'll have to find out."

\--

The mousse is better than the robe, Steve declares. They eat it on the bed, sprawled out with more of Hill House on in the background.

Steve's sitting in the vee of Billy’s legs, loose and lazy, in sweats and no shirt. Billy’s similarly dressed and feeling relaxed and content, like everything inside him has gone easy. Or maybe that's some of the dessert wine they had with the mousse.

His hands splay over Steve's ribs. He can feel every breath Steve takes, the way his chest expands and contracts.

“You have a good day, pretty boy?” Billy asks, pressing a kiss right next to Steve's ear.

Steve hums, soft and pleased, and Billy can feel it at his fingertips. "I did. Could get awful used to this. Traveling. Eating good food. Watching you work. I like watching you work."

Billy pulls his fingers over the heat of Steve's torso, trailing over warm skin.

“I like you watching me work. And I like you being here with me. Getting to share it all.”

None of it is as fun alone.

Steve tilts his head back nudging at Billy's jaw with his nose, skin jumping under his touch. "I like being here with you, too."

“Not feeling _too_ spoiled?” Billy asks. He's been trying to reign it in, despite _wanting_ to spoil Steve. He didn't even try to offer to try and feed Steve the mousse from his spoon.

"I could be a little more spoiled," Steve admits with a smile.

Billy hums and kisses Steve's neck. “You want more wine? We don't have to get up early tomorrow.”

“More wine sounds good,” Steve says, but doesn’t move other than to tilt his head over.

Billy laughs a little and presses another kiss to Steve's neck now that he's been gifted more access. He doesn't move either. Steve's so close, sitting right in Billy's lap. “I can't believe you're _here_,” Billy says, so softly, more to himself than anything.

Steve’s hands find his, threading his fingers through Billy’s. He tugs Billy’s arms around himself, lounging back, breathing out soft. Resting his full weight into him.

“I’m right here,” he says, dragging one of Billy’s palms up to splay over his chest, so Billy can feel his heartbeat. “See?”

Billy hums. His fingers twitch. “It's just kinda surreal, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods a little, a small thing, like he’s afraid if he moves too much it’ll break the spell. “It is. It feels weird. Like it’s not real.”

“Good, though?” Billy can't help but ask.

“Really good,” Steve says.

“Good,” Billy says, and the pats at Steve's stomach. “Up. If you want more wine, I gotta _reach _it.”

“Nope,” Steve says, burrowing back against him. “You’re stuck. I’ve trapped you. I’m holding you hostage forever.”

“I thought you wanted to be _spoiled_,” Billy says.

“_Exactly_,” Steve grins. “This is me, spoiling myself. You can’t go anywhere. I refuse.”

Billy laughs and wraps his arms around Steve in a hug. “How am I supposed to spoil you, then?”

“You’re doing a pretty good job, right now.” Steve says, and Billy doesn’t think he’s imagining the teasing lilt, the warm drop of his voice, inviting and so very tempting. “I’m sure you’ll think of _something_.”

And god, Billy _wants_.

Steve's right here, splayed in Billy's lap. It would be so easy to just slide his palm down Steve's torso, to drag it out until Steve's whining.

“_Baby,_” Billy says. “You're a fucking tease.”

"It's not teasing if I'm _offering_," Steve says, wiggling back a little, a hand curling over Billy's knee and slipping higher on his thigh.

Billy grunts. “Baby, I'm trying to, like, take it _slow.”_

Steve twists around, frowning at him. “Excuse me?”

Billy makes a face, puzzled. “With like, us? So you don’t think I’m using you, or,” he shrugs. It’s not easy to put into words. “Like I’m not interested in _you_.”

Steve makes a face Billy doesn't quite know how to interpret. If he had to guess, he'd say it was _fond._

"You've got to be the stupidest, sweetest guy I've ever dated," Steve says, leaning in and kissing him slow. "If I didn't want you to sex me up, I would've insisted on separate beds-- at the very least."

He kisses Billy again. Longer this time. Lingering.

"I've been putting the moves on since yesterday afternoon, Billy. I woke you up. _Naked._"

“And it was really fucking hot,” Billy says. “Do you know how hard it was not to get my hands _all over_ you?”

"_Yeah," _Steve nods. "That was the _point."_

Billy’s fingers splay wide over Steve’s ribs. “I didn’t want you to think I was using you.”

"I know," Steve smiles, and Billy can feel it against the corner of his mouth, and then his cheek. "That's why I said you're sweet."

Billy kisses him, slow and easy.

“I’m fucking _great_,” Billy says. “Does it totally ruin the gesture if I give in and sex you up, at, like, the _first_ opportunity?”

Steve laughs as he reels him in for another kiss. Billy can practically taste his joy, his amusement, on his lips.

"Blanket permission unless I say otherwise," Steve says. "Please, feel free to sex me up _whenever_ you get the chance. Cuz, like, I'm not sure you _know this_? But you're _stupid_ hot. And I've been _dying _for you to get me properly in bed."

Billy bites at Steve’s lower lip, his hands migrating to Steve’s hips. “I don’t know how to tell you this, baby,” he says. “But we’re literally in bed _right now_.”

"And?" Steve's breath catches. "What are you gonna do about it, killer?"

Billy’s thumbs push underneath the elastic of Steve’s sweats, pulling them down an inch or two on his hips, slowly exposing Steve’s skin to the air of the room.

“Oh, I _dunno_,” Billy says. His thumbs brush over Steve’s hip bones, calluses against silky smooth skin. “I mean, I _could_ just go to bed, what do you think?”

Steve groans, arching in his arms, head flopping back against his shoulder. "_Billy. _I swear to god, if you don't _fuck me_\--"

Heat _floods_ to Billy’s gut.

His fingers twitch and then tighten against the skin, gripping Steve's hips firm. He presses a kiss to Steve’s ear, and then asks, in a whisper, “You want me to fuck you, pretty boy?”

"_Yes," _Steve shudders. "God, yes, _please._"

“Tell me you brought lube,” Billy says, as he pulls Steve a little closer by the hips.

Steve's breath catches again. His hands go to Billy's knees. Squeezing.

"Of course, I did." Steve says, wetting his lips. "You _didn't_?"

Billy swallows. “Look, I was trying _really hard_ not to sleep with you. I figured it’d be easier on myself if I didn’t fucking _plan for it_.”

Steve laughs, delighted and breathless. "Good thing I planned better."

Billy shoves forward and muscles Steve down onto the bed onto his back, climbing on top of him, knees on either side of Steve’s hips. He catches him in a kiss, long and slow, before pulling back.

“You’re way more realistic than me,” Billy says.

Steve's hands drag up his thighs. His fingers hook into the waistband of Billy's pants. He cranes up and catches Billy's mouth. Presses dragging kisses to his lips.

He's _lovely. _Laid out under Billy, hair dark against the sheets, lips parted and a little red from the wine. Tasting like want and chocolate.

"Nah," Steve says. "Just know what I want. And that's you. I would've happily spent all week seducing you."

“I think you would’ve killed me,” Billy says.

He catches Steve’s lips again, and then grinds his hips down, slow, slotting them against Steve’s. Breath hitching as his blood heats.

Steve rocks up to meet him, gasping against his mouth. Billy feels him shudder, feels him tug at his pants. He can feel his cock filling out as they rut against each other.

“Naked,” Billy breathes against Steve’s neck. “We should definitely be naked.”

But he doesn’t stop kissing Steve, can’t bring himself to really even pull _away_.

Steve doesn't seem to have such compunctions. His fingers dip right under Billy's sweats, getting at skin, pushing cotton away. His curves his hands over Billy's ass, tugging him down in a filthy grind as he shoves Billy's sweats down until they're catching on his dick.

Billy hisses with it, groaning as his dick grinds against Steve’s, and as the elastic catches on it. It has him, after a second more of indulgence, pulling back just to shuck them -- and then he’s pulling at Steve’s, too, getting him naked and exposed, sprawled out on the bed for Billy to admire.

“_Fuck_, you’re hot,” Billy breathes, hands going for the smooth ivory of Steve’s skin; of Steve’s thighs, his torso.

Steve arches for him. Spine curving up, muscles pulling taut under his skin. Arms stretching out over his head. Like Billy's very own personal show.

His eyes are heavy lidded and dark. Billy watches his tongue dart out across his lips.

"Right back at you, killer." Steve says.

Heat radiates off of Steve's skin and into Billy's touch. He blankets himself across Steve again and catches him in a kiss, easy and slow, fingers still caught on his ribs.

Greedily, he grinds down, slotting their cocks next to each other for the pleasant drag.

“You want me to open you up, baby?” Billy asks, pulling back from the kiss to bite at Steve's jaw.

Steve moans, heady and sweet, swallowing thick as he nods his head. “Yeah. _God_, yes. Wanna feel you in me.”

Billy groans just imagining it, sliding into that wet heat after feeling Steve tight around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Where'd you put the lube?”

“Suitcase,” Steve mutters, bucking up against him. “In the toiletries bag.”

Because Billy is a _saint _and deserves some sort of _medal_, he pulls himself off of Steve, rolling to the side and then off the bed to rummage in Steve's suitcase. Once he has the lube in hand, though, it's easy to stop. To just _look_ at Steve, sprawled out on the bed, prettier than Billy's ever seen him.

He hovers by the edge of the bed, dragging his fingers over Steve's thigh. “How do you want this?”

Steve shudders, propped up on his elbows. "Just wanna feel you," he says. "I'll do it however you want me to."

Billy would take Steve however. Any way he could get him. But he has his preferences. Ways he wants to see Steve, ways he wants to take him.

“Just like this,” Billy says, crawling onto the bed to kneel between Steve's spread legs. “Wanna be able to see you.”

He wraps his fingers around Steve's cock and gives it a couple slow pulls. Steve’s body reacts perfectly. He arches, mouth falling open, fingers curling into the sheets. His cock is heavy and warm in Billy’s hand. Thick. Steve’s hips twitch up into his touch and then shudder back down.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Yeah, that’s _perfect_. Want that too.”

Billy keeps touching Steve as he gets his other hand slick, warming up the lube with the heat of his skin. He nudged at Steve's thighs with his elbow.

“Spread wide for me, baby.”

Steve groans, thighs splaying open and knees drawing up. His hands find Billy's shoulders, smoothing up over his skin, setting it alight, and then easing down his chest. He tilts his hips just a bit, so Billy has better access.

With one finger, he teases over Steve's hole, pressing gently, pushing against sensitive muscle. Then, slowly, while his other hand works Steve's cock, he presses inside.

Steve takes him so well. He’s tight and hot, but not in a way that makes Billy worried he’s hurting him. It helps that he groans, head falling back, wantonly open for it. For the pressure, for the steady stroke of Billy’s hand on him.

“Don’t tease me, killer.” Steve tells him, after a few moments, already panting.

“You want two already?” Billy asks, voice all low, husky already.

He knows Steve can take it. His body is used to this, ready to go loose. But Billy won't give it to him until Steve asks him all nicely. He does _tease_, though. Pressing at his rim with his middle finger.

Steve whines, spine curving up, twitching tight. He pulls at Billy, a bit uselessly, like that might get him to hurry things up already.

“Please, baby.” Steve breathes, spreading his legs a little more. “I want it. Please.”

Billy's feeling _nice_, so he only waits until Steve whines again -- and then he's pressing in with two fingers, spreading Steve open.

Steve’s breath catches and then stalls. He grunts, lashes fluttering, and rocks his hips to meet Billy’s touch.

Reaching up, he catches Billy at the nape with one of his hands, reeling him down in order to kiss him. It’s lazy and filthy and slick, his tongue doing something absolutely _sinful_ along the roof of Billy’s mouth as he ruts down onto his fingers.

It’s fucking base, feeling Steve go tight around his fingers, feeling Steve’s slick tongue in his mouth. It’s indulgent and raw and perfect. Billy savors it for a little while, just feeling Steve rock against his hand, feeling him tense and twitch as Billy crooks his fingers and presses _in_.

Steve moans, high and keening, against his mouth. His thighs draw in, hips lurching up, and he shudders as he rips his lips from Billy's in order to gasp in a breath.

"Oh, _fuck_," Steve pants.

“You think you can take three for me, baby?” Billy asks, slowly easing his fingers out of Steve, to tease at the rim of him with three, pressing, _pressing_.

Steve squirms, eyes fluttering, a whine catching on his breath. "God, yes. Please, Billy, yes."

Billy _knows_ he can. He’s watched Steve take toys twice the size of Billy’s cock. Twice the size of _Steve’s_ cock. But he still wants to ask, it’s still _hot_.

“You sure you can take it?” Billy asks. He’s so goddamn _hard_. He’s aching with it, desperate to get his dick inside Steve.

Steve groans, arching and straining upward, so prettily. "Billy, _please. _Please, c'mon, just-- give it to me. I want it so bad, _please."_

Billy hums and circles Steve with his fingertips before pulling back to drip a bit more lube onto his fingers.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Billy says, and then presses inside with three fingers, watching as Steve’s eyes flutter closed, as his stomach goes tense.

Steve keens, toes curling. He spasms, muscles pulling taut, tightening up around Billy's fingers. Slick and so hot; Billy wants to bury deep in him and stay there. But for now, he is content to tease, to open Steve up and to take without distraction.

"Fuck," Steve gasps. "_Fuck, _Billy--"

“Yeah, baby?” Billy asks. “You like me filling you up?”

Steve moans; it breaks over his lips, his throat working around the sound. “Uh huh,” he says, high and desperate, nodding his head; Billy feels something warm and consuming in his chest, something like _pride_, something like _desire_\-- because _he_ did this to Steve, got him all breathless and squirming, pushed him to sweet desperation. “Feel so good, Billy. So fucking good.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Billy says.

He’s fucking his fingers into Steve, slow, easy. Curling them just to listen to the moans it drags out of Steve. His own cock is dripping with how hard he is, and he feels _close_ even though he hasn’t even had a hand on himself.

Billy curls his fingers in and works over that sensitive spot with his fingertips. Presses and kneads at it, until Steve’s eyes are rolling back and he’s seizing up a little. Clawing at Billy’s shoulders as he jerks and his voice breaks on a sob. His cock weeps against his belly, jumping, precome smearing over his skin.

“_Haa, please,” _Steve clutches at him, hips moving almost of their own accord, like he can’t help but rut onto Billy’s fingers. “Please, Billy, c’mon. M’gonna come if you don’t--”

Billy's _seen_ Steve come twice. Three times. _More. _He's not worried about Steve not being able to again.

But.

He wants Steve to come on his cock. And then he wants to get Steve off _again_.

So he eases his fingers free. And presses Steve back and into the bed.

“Want you to come with me in you, baby,” he says.

He tears open a condom he found alongside the lube and rolls it onto his cock, catching Steve in a kiss when he's done. Steve curls up to meet him, mouth open and wanting, a hand fisting in his hair. He sucks at Billy’s tongue, like a tease, and hitches his knees up at Billy’s waist.

“Want you inside me,” Steve pants against his mouth. “Want it-- want it so bad, Billy, please. Wanna feel you in me.”

That's all it takes for Billy to break away from the kiss, slot himself back in between Steve's legs, and get Steve by the hips. With a hand on his cock, he lines himself up and then starts to press _in_, groaning as Steve's body yields so easily to him.

Steve’s head flops back against the bed. He reaches above him, clutches at the sheets with one hand as he grips at Billy’s shoulder with the other, grunting as Billy works himself inside the hot clench of his body.

“Oh, fuck _me_,” Steve gasps. “Fuck, you’re _perfect_.”

It's not just the pleasure of being inside Steve, it's also the _closeness_, the intimacy. The heat that's rolling off Steve in waves, spreading into Billy's body like wildfire. Billy kisses him hard as he sheaths himself completely into Steve's body, sliding home and gasping against Steve's mouth when he can't go any further.

“_Fuck_,” Billy breathes out, hips stuttering, nerves alight. “You good?”

Steve whines, throat working around the sound, as he breathes shakily under him. He nods, his legs sliding up higher at Billy's waist, hands finding his shoulders as he shifts and adjusts.

"So good," he breathes. "You feel fucking perfect. Jesus."

Billy can’t help but agree. _Perfect_ is exactly how he feels, this close to Steve, this connected to him. He revels in it for another beat, just relishing the heat of Steve around him as he shifts, getting used to the invasion of Billy’s cock.

He can only wait for so long, though. Soon, his hips are pressing forward, _in_, and then back out, so slowly, because he has to _move_, has to feel the drag of Steve against him. He kisses Steve as he starts to move, eating up the little broken sounds he gets out of Steve as he pulls out and then slides back in.

Steve clutches at him as he rocks up to meet him. Cants his hips up and moans as Billy ruts so easily back in; Steve's wet and hot and so tight. His eyes are heavy and dark on Billy's face, panting against his mouth as they start to move together.

It’s so _easy_, driving into Steve, finding the angle that makes him moan the most, the one that makes his nails catch at Billy’s shoulders and leave lines he knows’ll be there tomorrow. It doesn’t matter -- nothing feels better than the way Steve is moving and moaning underneath him, gasping against Billy’s lips.

“You feel so good,” Billy manages, hips driving in, seeking _more, more, more._

Steve's fingers curl in and drag down over his back as Billy bucks in sharp. He gasps out, and Billy is enraptured with the way Steve's face twists up in his pleasure. In the heat of him and how he responds to Billy's touch.

"Wanted this," Steve tells him, breathless, skin glistening and thighs trembling a little at Billy's hips; he's close, Billy knows. "Wanted this since I heard your voice the first time."

“_Fuck_,” Billy breathes out, driving in only to pull out fast and do it again.

Steve arches off the bed in hottest way, fingers clawing at Billy’s back, at the sheets, at Billy’s hair. Billy slips a hand between the two of them, to wrap his fingers around Steve’s length.

“Same,” Billy says. “Wanted you so fucking bad.”

The deep, jarring thrusts has the bed groaning under them. Steve strains up under him, head rolling to the side so he can gasp out Billy's name between a slew of curses.

His cock twitches in Billy's hand. Pulses heavy and then spills out. Steve spasms, sobbing out and bucking up, releasing onto his stomach and into Billy's hand.

Billy fucks him through it, through his groans and his whimpers, through the way he gasps out Billy's name.

It doesn't take long for Billy to find his own pleasure, for his hips to buck deep as he comes.

“_Steve_,” he groans out, burying his face against Steve's neck, his hips stuttering.

Steve moans as Billy finishes. Still panting and still sweating, holding Billy close as they both come down.

Billy feels Steve's trembling fingers trail down his spine. Light. Delicate.

"Next time, you shouldn't wear a condom," Steve tells him, kissing at the shell of his ear. "Wanna feel you come in me."

Billy _groans_, loud, and presses a kiss to Steve's neck, still all strung out.

“Want that too, baby,” Billy says. “Wanna get tested.” He rocks his hips, just a little bit, just to tease them both. “God, wanna fill you up. Wanna feel the way I drip out of you, wanna push it back in with my fingers.”

Steve shudders, heavy and wanting, his breath catching as he pulls Billy impossibly closer. "_Christ. _You're gonna kill me dead."

“If it helps,” Billy says, as he pulls himself free, tugging the condom off and tying it up, “you can do the same to me. I'm all about reciprocity.”

He presses his lips to the corner of Steve's lips, lingering there for a bit.

Steve doesn't let him get away. Turns his head and cradles Billy's face between his hands, catching Billy's mouth proper. Licks past his teeth and kisses him long and deep.

"I'm gonna take you up on that," Steve mutters, and then feeds him another kiss.

“I hope you _do_,” Billy says, kissing back, letting himself get a little lost in it.

Steve hums against his mouth. "Gonna do _everything _with you."

Billy _grins_. He wraps his arms around Steve and holds him close, rolling so that he's dragging Steve on top of him on the large bed.

“I can't fucking wait.”

\--

They have an entire twenty four hours in London before Billy actually has to work. They do a bit of sightseeing-- Steve’s been to Europe but never to England-- and as they’d curled up next to each other in a booth at a pub for lunch, Steve had taken his hand, kissed his cheek, and thanked him for such a fun trip. For letting Steve join him.

“I’d take you with me every time,” Billy tells him, kissing Steve’s knuckles, and holding his hand between his own. “It’s better, with you here.”

Steve smiles at him. “You’re a fucking _sap_.”

“Not usually,” Billy shrugs. “I just like you.”

Steve kisses the corner of his mouth. “I like you, too. I like being here with you. Even if I feel severely underdressed next to you.”

Billy sucks in a little breath; knows that Steve might not be open to what comes out of his mouth, but wants to offer anyway. “I could help with that. Take you someplace nice. I promised to take you shopping, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did,” Steve says, brows drawing together. “You actually _want_ to?”

“Absolutely,” Billy says. “Will you _let_ me buy you shit?”

Steve stares at him for a second, and then nods. It’s slow. Careful.

He squeezes at Billy’s hand. “Just don’t go crazy. I _do_ have my own money.”

“Yeah. Not saying you don't. But I wanna spoil you and I have more money than I know what to _do_ with. Besides. I get to look at you in pretty shit this way.”

He leans over and presses a kiss to Steve's cheek.

“Shall we?” Billy asks. “London has some great shopping.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, alright. Cue the montage.”

Everything with Steve is a montage -- overlaid with a filter so picture perfect that time just _goes_.

Steve pays for lunch, and then the cab -- and then Billy sets Steve out along a long line of fancy boutiques and tells him to pick whichever one catches his eye. For a second, they pause outside of _Valentino_ and Steve stares through the window at some of the displays; Billy thinks his gaze lingers pair of strappy heels.

But then Steve’s pulling him down the street, toward one of the other shops. He pulls them inside of one that has stylish, pressed suits in the windows, alongside a few more casual fairs.

“This good?” Steve asks, as they step inside.

“Absolutely,” Billy says, huffing out a laugh as he watches someone snap a picture of him as they walk through the store. Rumor is already out that William Hargrove is _attached_, in _puppy love_, and he has no problem putting a hand on Steve's lower back to guide him into the store to validate that theory.

“Am I aiming for casual or dressed up?” Steve asks, eyes on a wall of ties toward the back. “Some mixture of both? Am I picking or are you?”

“You pick,” Billy says, following Steve as he walks through and touches things, getting a feel for all the fabrics. “And then I might pick a few things for you to try and see if you like them.”

“Is this _Pretty Woman_?” Steve teases, pulling a blue button-up from the rack. “Am I Julia Roberts?”

“Not quite,” Billy says.

He picks up a soft blue sweater and holds it up, eyeing Steve and it in the same look. Then, he swaps it out for a light grey.

Steve glances at him over his shoulder, grin almost coy. “You sure? Because I’ll admit, I’m kinda into the piano scene.”

“I'm into anything you’re into, baby.” He eyes what Steve's holding and just smiles. “And into you wearing anything, really, too.”

Steve’s brow arches, but his cheeks color a little too. “Is that right?”

He picks out another shirt. It’s darker, silky looking, and when Steve turns it over, it’s got part of the back cut out. Steve hums and adds it to the selection he has hooked over his left arm.

Billy grabs a few more items after that, and so does Steve. They get to the dressing room with the assistance of a very pleasant associate who is trying very hard not to act like they recognize Billy.

“You got your work cut out for you,” Billy says, sprawling into a comfortable chair in the corner of the spacious dressing room.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Steve tells him, pairing up shirts and slacks on the hooks on the wall.

Billy admires the view as Steve pulls on a pair of charcoal slacks and then a light blue shirt.

“I'm enjoying this a _lot_, you're right,” Billy says. “Am I not allowed?”

Steve meets his gaze through the mirror. “Didn’t say _that_. Tucked in or out?”

“Tucked in. Makes you look even taller.”

Steve makes quick work of it. The pants fit him well, if a little tight in the thighs, and with the shirt tucked in Steve’s more wiry figure is on display. He looks tall; elegant. Like he should be on someone’s arm.

Steve does up the cuffs and turns to face him. “I think it needs a belt. No tie.”

“Definitely no tie.” Billy squints. “Belt would make it look a little more formal. No belt is more casual. We could definitely go out to dinner with you looking like that. How about that shirt you picked up? The one with the cut-out?”

Steve unbuttons out of the shirt, sliding it back onto a hanger. He pulls the shirt in question on, and it fits perfectly across his shoulders. The line of his spine is fully on display, the diamond shape cut sloping to his lower back.

The material is so dark it nearly looks black, but it's a deep red. Billy _loves _it.

“We gotta take you to a _party_ in that. Or, like, a fuckin’ _gala_.”

Billy wants to eat him up.

“C’mere, baby,” Billy says, hands out, beckoning Steve closer to him.

Steve pads over, stopping between Billy's knees. He hasn't finished buttoning up the shirt and the cuffs are still undone. His toes curl and uncurl against the floor; there's a hole in the corner of his socks. He's gorgeous.

"You like it?" Steve asks.

“Very much so,” Billy says. “Shit, that’s soft.”

He pulls his fingers over Steve’s stomach, relishing the feeling of the silk.

Steve shudders under his fingers, his own hands dragging up over the fabric. "Feels soft. Feels good."

Billy’s fingers drift up Steve’s ribs, then back down again. They linger at Steve’s waistline, and then touch down the smooth fabric of his trousers, trailing, touching lightly.

“You’re so hot,” Billy breathes out.

Steve's hands find their way to Billy's shoulders. Then, he sinks the fingers of one of them into Billy's hair, pulling, just a bit. Then, soothing over his scalp, digging his fingers in.

Steve gasps as Billy tugs him closer by the hips.

"You keep touching me like that, I'm gonna get the wrong idea," Steve says.

“You keep pulling my hair you're gonna _give _me the wrong idea,” Billy says, dropping his voice to a little quieter. His mouth waters, his skin feels hot. “Would that be so bad, though?” he asks, fingers moving to tap at the button on Steve's pants.

Steve shivers. He wets his lips, staring down at Billy. "You seriously wanna do this? _Here?"_

“What, you don’t think you can be _quiet?_” Billy asks.

Steve’s _ears_ go red. “I mean, that’s not usually my _forte_.”

“I believe in you,” Billy says, and then drops to his knees onto the wood floor of the dressing room.

The door is low, so no one will be able to tell -- not that Billy _cares_, he’d do it _anyway_.

“These pants really do fit you well,” Billy says, dragging his hands over Steve’s thighs, his hips, and then, teasingly, over his groin. “Gonna get them for you.”

“_Jesus_,” Steve’s breath catches, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and then he’s staring down at Billy with blown out pupils, dragging his hand through Billy’s curls and giving a little tug. “I think you just like dressing me up so that you can undress me.”

“That _really_ wasn’t my original intent,” Billy says, eyes falling closed when Steve pulls at his hair.

He pops the button on Steve’s pants, tugs the zipper down slow, and then eases the trousers down Steve’s hips. Wouldn’t want to dirty anything they haven’t bought yet, obviously.

When he glances up, Steve’s got his lower lip between his teeth. Like he’s already biting back sounds. Swallowing them up, so Billy can’t hear them-- but so _no one else_ can either.

Steve’s half hard in his underwear, already tenting the material. When Billy palms him, Steve uses the hand not buried in Billy’s hair in order to cover his mouth, eyes fluttering shut, groan muffled.

It's hot as sin, listening to Steve try to keep himself quiet.

Billy _could_ stop, could leave this until later at the hotel, but he's hungry for it, greedy.

The nicest thing he does is decide not to _tease_. He hooks his fingers over Steve's underwear and tugs it down his thighs, pressing forward to take all of Steve's length into his mouth in one go. It's easy, because he's not totally hard yet, and Billy is rewarded by the taste of him as he pushes against Billy's tongue, by the smell of him, as Billy’s nose nestles against the curls of dark hair at Steve's groin.

"_Fuck," _Steve hisses, behind his fingers, hand fisting and then flexing out in Billy's hair.

Billy feels his cock twitch. Feels it fill out, quick and hard, in his mouth. From above, Steve sucks in a ragged breath and shudders.

Billy slaps him lightly on the thigh, a reminder to be quiet, as he swallows around Steve's cock.

It's not long before Billy's bobbing his head, sucking at Steve, working him over all easy. He doesn't try to drag out the pleasure, because they don't have time, and also because Billy doesn't have patience. He _wants_, needing Steve to feel _good_, needing to be the one to give it to him.

Steve's panting behind his hand. There's a blush there, hiding behind his fingers, warm on Steve's skin. Steve watches between the blissful roll of his eyes, dark and hazy, and so damn pretty.

It doesn't take long. Partly because Billy isn't letting it and partly, probably, because of where they are.

Soon, Steve's bucking-- his legs shaking from holding so steady-- and yanking at Billy's hair with a choked off whine.

Steve's fingers only encourage Billy to go harder, to move faster. To take Steve even deeper.

It feels so _good_, the press of Steve's cock against his tongue, the tug of Steve's fingers in his hair.

Steve's eyes squeeze shut as he stutters forward into Billy's mouth. There's another muffled whine-- and then another.

And then Steve's pressing deep and coming hard, gasping as he pulls at Billy's hair and floods his mouth with the taste of him.

Billy sucks him through it, swallowing him down. He tastes _good_ and feels even better.

As Steve pants, Billy pulls off, licking him down as Steve shudders through the oversensitivity.

“You're so hot,” Billy says from his knees, looking up at Steve, catching that beautiful gaze.

When Steve drops his hand, his lower lip is swollen and red. He must've been biting it, the entire time, trying to keep quiet.

His chest rises and falls, unsteady, and he pulls gentle at Billy's hair.

"Sit in the chair," he says, voice rough.

“Hey, you don't gotta,” Billy says.

"Billy," Steve says, pulling at his hair again. "Sit in the chair."

“_Fuck_, baby,” Billy says, feeling a little weak.

He lets Steve tug him again, letting that move him back to the chair, where he sits, somehow even harder in his pants than he was before.

Steve takes just long enough to pull up his underwear and his pants-- doesn't fasten them, just slides to his knees between Billy's thighs. Eases his hands up Billy's legs and works his belt open, and then his fly.

Billy tilts his hips up for Steve to work them down just enough. His dick strains against his briefs and Steve leans in, mouthing him through the material.

"I have a condom in my wallet," Steve says. "If you're worried. I'm clean, but I know you said you wanted to get tested."

“It's fine,” Billy says, trying to bite back a sound. His hands tighten against the railings on the chair. “It's good. I trust you. And I haven't-- not for a while. Not with anyone else--"

After all, if he didn't trust Steve, he wouldn't have blown him.

"Good," Steve says, looking up at him through his lashes. "I wanna taste you."

And then he's pulling Billy free from his briefs and getting his mouth on him. Fists the base of his cock and wraps his lips around the head and then sinks down and down until Billy's hitting the back of his throat.

Steve gags, just a bit, and then groans and takes him to the hilt. Gets his hands on Billy's hips, tugs, and swallows around him.

Billy's fingers go to Steve's hair, burying in the mess of it.

“_Baby,”_ he breathes out, pleasure rocking through him as Steve swallows him down. “Shit.”

It feels so good, so wet and warm. So illicit, too.

Steve hums, hollowing his cheeks and _sucking_. His tongue works along the underside of his cock, pressing in all the right ways. Steve _barely _withdraws, pulls back just enough to catch a gasp of a breath and then presses back in. Takes him so fucking _well. _

And when Billy glances up, movement in his periphery, he sees the beautiful, obscene sight of Steve kneeling between his legs in the mirror.

“Fuck, _fuck_,” Billy hisses. He watches Steve in the mirror, caught up in the way he looks from a different perspective. It's so _hot_ as Billy bucks his hips, as Steve takes him deep. “Not gonna -- last,” Billy warns him.

Steve lets out a choked off sound. Pleased. Wanting. He bobs his head, holding Billy steady, keeping him wrapped up in the perfect heat of his mouth. In the tight wetness, as he deep throats him.

It's too much. Too hot. Too perfect.

Billy comes _hard_ as Steve's head bobs in the mirror, shooting off down Steve's throat as his vision swims. His fingers tighten in Steve's hair, holding him down for just a second, before letting go.

“Baby,” he manages. “Jesus christ.”

Steve pulls off panting, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looks up, his pupils are blown and his cheeks are still flush-- running all the way down his throat to his chest.

“Let's buy it all,” Billy says. “Wanna go back to the room. Get my hands all over you.”

He's so worked up that it feels like the orgasm barely even took the edge off. Like he's gonna crawl out of his skin if he can't get more of Steve.

Steve laughs a little, throaty and breathless. "Seriously?" he asks, but his hands are fucking sneaking up Billy's shirt, getting at skin. "You wanna just buy _all _of it?"

“Yeah,” Billy says, with a nod. “Absolutely. I just wanna -- get you into bed. Please?” he asks.

Steve grins, rocking forward on his knees and kissing Billy's exposed hip. "Whatever you want, killer."

He looks like an angel on his knees. Billy runs his fingers through his hair.

“You,” Billy says. “Just want you.”

\--

They stumble into the hotel room, dropping the bags by the door, tearing at each other's clothes. Billy can't keep his mouth off of Steve. Could barely keep his _hands_ off of him, the whole ride back. In the store, in the cab, in the goddamn elevator.

Steve smiles against his mouth, laughing as Billy pulls and tugs at his shirt. He shuffles back a step, just enough to pull the polo up and over his head, and then Billy's eating the space up again. Getting a hand on his ass and another in his hair, tipping Steve's head back so he can mouth down his throat.

"I want you to ride me," Steve gasps.

Billy _groans_. Smoothes his hands down, _down_ as Steve drapes his arms over his shoulders, and then scoops Steve right up.

"Holy _fuck_," Steve laughs, a moan catching in his throat as Billy bites at his collar. "Or fuck me against a wall-- what the _fuck_, Billy? How are you so fucking-- _god._"

“Don't see why we have to _choose_,” Billy says.

He _likes_ holding Steve, likes the weight of him, the way Billy _can_ scoop him up but has to work for it. Steve's no twig: he's got muscles of his own -- he's just more lithe, more wiry.

“Could get you on my dick,” Billy says, pressing another bite to Steve's neck. “Bet you're still open from last night. Bet, with just a little spit, I could slide right in.” Another bite, another kiss. “And then, when you're close, I pull off and I make you stretch me out, make you fuck me real good. And then _maybe_ I'll let you come.”

Steve moans, delirious and wanting. "_Billy_," he says, like he means something by it, like he's begging, and he sinks his hand in his hair and tugs at the back of his shirt. "God, just-- _anything_, please."

Billy doesn't _want_ to let Steve down, but logistically, he's gotta. It's only for a second though, just long enough to shuck Steve's jeans and underwear and to tug himself out of his own. Then, he's picking Steve back up again, carrying him until they're at a wall, pressing Steve back against it.

He offers Steve his fingers to his lips, holding him up with his other hand.

“Wanna get me nice and slick?” Billy says.

Steve grunts, arching off the wall for a second. His lips part, the most sinful invitation, tongue peeking out, and when Billy presses his fingers in, he _sucks._

It feels good. Sinful. Steve’s mouth is hot around his fingers, slick as his tongue laps over his fingers. Billy enjoys it for a little while -- but really, he can only linger for so long.

He slides his fingers out of Steve’s mouth, now all spit slick and dripping. He savors the way saliva clings, for a moment, between the tips of his fingers and Steve’s tongue. Then, he reaches down and presses his fingertips between Steve’s cheeks.

Steve shudders, shifting in his arms, and nodding. "C'mon. Want it."

Billy leans forward, pressing more of Steve’s weight against the wall. It makes it easier to hold him up, that way. Then, he starts pressing at the rim of muscle, finding that it yields so easily. It’s hot, the way Steve opens up to him, hot the way his body just _yields_.

Steve groans as Billy sinks his fingers inside of him. He spasms, gasping, and digs his fingers in at Billy's shoulders.

"Jesus," he breathes. "Is it bad to admit how much I-- _fuck_, how much I love your fingers inside me?"

Billy crooks his fingers until he finds the spot that makes Steve groan.

“Only if it’s bad for me to admit how much I love it, too. You feel so good around me, so fucking _hot_.”

Steve laughs, barely, because it quickly turns into a low keening as Billy works over sensitive nerves that have Steve squirming. "Would let you fucking do this for _hours_."

“Mm, I could. Could use up a whole bottle of lube fucking you open. Could get you around my fist, I think.”

He’s going slow, because spit can only loosen Steve so much. But he’s not in a hurry. There’s no need to rush when Steve’s laughs are cut off by little moans.

"_Jesus_, Billy," Steve says, but his pupils are dark, and his spit slick lips are parted as he pants.

“What, too much?” Billy says, trying to slowly work a third finger in along with the first two.

Steve shakes his head, throat working. "No. No, just-- never, uh. Never even _thought_ about it. But fuck, Billy, I'd let you do anything to me."

“What, you’ve never been fisted?” Billy asks.

"No," Steve huffs, laugh breaking again as Billy works a third finger into him, eyes rolling back briefly. "_Fuck."_

“Baby, even _I’ve_ been fisted,” he says, eating up the way Steve’s body just opens for him.

"Yeah, well, I _haven't_," Steve pants; he's so tight for him, hot and clenching.

“When we’re back home,” Billy says. “We’ll get you somewhere comfortable. We’ll spend a long time opening you up. Getting you ready and loose.”

Steve groans again, head thunking back against the wall. "God, Billy, just _fuck_ me."

“Like this, a little dry, or you wanna move to the bed?”

"Like this," Steve says. "Want you in me."

Billy's heart feels like it skips a beat. All of him goes hot, dick throbbing at the promise of getting in Steve _now_.

He slides his fingers free. Tears a condom wrapper open with his teeth and rolls it on, one handed, glad he'd had the foresight to slip one into his pocket. He spits into his hand a couple times, just to drag his palm over his dick to slick it up a bit. Then, he’s lowering Steve down and holding himself steady, guiding his cock until he feels it nudge against the heat of Steve, a gentle press.

Steve's legs tighten up around him. He tilts his hips, meets his eyes, and moans as Billy starts the gradual push _in_.

"Oh, fuck," Steve says, guttural and blissed. "Oh, _fuck_, Billy."

There's nothing hotter than this, Billy thinks. Than having to press in mostly dry, because both of them want it so _badly_.

“You're so tight for me, baby,” he says, easing in so that Steve's heat is just around the head of his cock -- so perfect.

Steve grunts. He rocks his hips, tries to get him deeper, and hisses. It must burn a bit. He must feel every inch of the stretch.

Billy envies him, just a bit. There's nothing better than that burn, that bite of pain, when you want it _so bad. _Then again, there's nothing better, right now, than fucking into the tight warmth of Steve's body. Of easing himself in, nice and slow, but unrelenting.

Steve moans. He cranes forward and gets his mouth on Billy's. Kisses his chin, his cheek, his jaw. Pants the entire time, trembling.

He's desperate. Needy. Clinging.

"Wanna feel you come in me," he breathes.

Billy _had_ been planning on stopping. Had been planning on finishing this out by riding Steve into the bed. But it feels too good to stop, to try and drag himself out of Steve's warmth.

“_Fuck_, baby, I wanna come in you, too.” The idea is heady, hot. Sinfully alluring.

Steve rocks and ruts against him. Flexes his thighs. Tries to get him deeper.

"C'mon," he says. "Gimme more. Wanna feel all of you."

“Greedy,” Billy says. When Steve reaches up and fists a hand in his hair, he moans. “_Bossy,”_ he says, and gives in, hips bucking up as he presses in. Giving Steve what he wants -- which happens to be just what Billy wants, too.

Steve gasps-- head falling back, fingers twisting tight in Billy's hair. It feels so fucking _good. _So fucking _perfect. _

He remembers watching Steve, a screen a barrier between them, and wanting this. Wanting to feel the heat of him and hear the sound of him and be the reason he was in pure rapture. He hadn't realized how good it would actually be. Not until now.

Not until Steve pulls at his hair and claws at his shoulder and kisses him stupid after he says, "fuck me, Billy. Make me yours."

That's all it takes. And then Billy's leaning forward, pressing Steve against the wall, fucking him against it. It feels sinful, dirty, the way they're going at it -- but so, so good.

It's hot and filthy and fast. Steve's moaning every time Billy drives in, bracing a hand on the wall behind his head. There's the slap of skin, the rush of their bodies meeting, the _heat._

"Harder," Steve gasps against his mouth, panting against his lips.

Billy's helpless to do anything else. His hips snap, driving into Steve hard, the wall behind him basically the only thing keeping Steve up. Billy braces himself against it with a hand, needing it to keep himself up, the other one helping support Steve.

“‘M close,” Billy manages between kisses. Every thrust is so _good, _pleasure rushing at him every time. “Wanna get you off first. Want you to come on my dick.”

Steve is nodding, panting, thighs flexing-- and then his hips are canting up, changing the angle just right. He cries out sharp when Billy thrusts forward next; moans and then gasps.

"So close," he says. "Almost. Wanna come just like this. With just you inside me."

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out, his own hips shaking from the force of him fucking into Steve. “Wanna be able to fill you up, fuck you full of my come. Wanna have you dripping with me.”

Steve whines, bucking against him. His head lulls back, like the _idea_ is enough to leave him drowning in his own desire.

Billy drives in hard and deep, and watches as Steve's eyes roll back. As he seizes up. As his voice breaks when he comes.

He goes tight. Spasming and hot, muscles fluttering and clenching as he jerks through it, spilling out between them. Gasping Billy's name.

Billy fucks him through it, going hard and rough, until Steve is gasping, groaning, whining at Billy and tugging at Billy's hair for purchase. It doesn't take long to find his own orgasm, to drive in deep until he's gasping, choking on it as he buries himself, hips shaking as he comes.

They stay locked like that, grappling for purchase. Anchoring each other. Panting and sweaty and delirious off the high of it.

Eventually, though, Billy has to pull out. His muscles start to shake with the force and effort of pressing Steve into the wall, of holding him up. He grabs the condom and tosses it into a nearby trash can, and then holds Steve up, under his ass, and marches them, awkwardly with his pants around his thighs, to the bed.

They fall into it, a pile of limbs and half-undone clothing.

“That was so fucking hot,” Billy breathes.

Steve grunts, pawing at him, dragging him close and kissing him clumsy.

Billy's lazy with it. It's hot, too, the way Steve licks into his mouth without a care. The way their stubbled cheeks scratch together. The way Billy can barely move, because his pants are around his thighs.

Steve's fingers drag through his hair. Gentle, sweet, slowly affectionate. Easing at his scalp with his fingertips.

When they finally break apart, Steve's eyes are still hazy and heavy. "You're amazing."

Billy feels perfect. Happy. So goddamn content. “Pretty sure that’s you, baby,” he says, stealing another kiss. With his arms around Steve, he feels like nothing could get _better_.

He’s so fucking _gone_ for Steve, he’s not even sure what to do.

"Nah," Steve says, a hand curving along his jaw, a thumb at his cheek. "It's all you."

Billy smiles, feeling lazy and stupid. “Agree to disagree.” He leans into Steve’s touch and lets his eyes fall closed. “Nap?”

"Nap," Steve agrees.


	6. Chapter 6

Billy is warm. Comfortable. Dozing on and off.

He’s dreaming about something, but it falls away from him when he tries to focus on it, to reel it back in.

He feels _good_.

So good, actually.

A noise catches in his throat, soft, but it’s enough to make him aware, to pull him even further out of sleep.

It takes him a second to focus, to realize exactly _why_ he feels so good.

His hips buck.

Steve’s mouth swallows him down, tongue laving over him, hot and wet. Billy blinks down at him, groaning, and gets a hand lazily in the mess of his hair. It’s so soft. His hands still aren’t working totally properly.

Steve pulls off with a little gasp and a crooked grin. "Hey, killer."

His eyes are a little blurry, too, having a hard time focusing out of sleep. But Steve is so gorgeous anyway, looking bright and sleep-wrinkled.

“Hi,” Billy manages. He feels so _good_. He can’t believe Steve woke him up with his mouth around his cock.

"This okay?" Steve asks, stroking over him, kissing the inside of his thigh.

“So okay,” Billy says. His voice is rough with sleep. He’s so hard. He can feel how wet his dick is with Steve’s spit.

"Good," Steve says, and then he's swallowing him down again.

Taking him into the wet heat of his mouth. Licking and sucking, bobbing his head.

Billy’s fingers twitch in Steve’s hair. His hips jerk off the bed, though he tries to keep them still.

“Fuck, _fuck_, baby,” Billy says, as Steve’s tongue circles around the tip of him in a way that makes him pant.

Steve hums. Grazes the edge of his teeth against the underside of his cock. Just enough to make the sensation of him sinking down sharp and electric.

There's the pop of a cap opening and then slick fingers sliding between his cheeks, teasing at his entrance.

Billy’s stomach jumps like he’s on a rollercoaster, body flooding with warmth.

“Oh _shit_,” he says, spreading his thighs some, raising his hips to give Steve better access.

He groans when Steve’s finger starts pressing in, gasping out a breath into the silence of the room.

Luckily, Steve isn't a tease like Billy. Or, perhaps, unluckily. Because he presses in, slow but sure, and takes him into his throat as he works Billy open.

It’s a lot of sensation all at once, but it’s a perfect rush of it. Of Steve stretching him open, that first bite of pain that comes with intruston. It’s the wet pleasure of Steve taking him all the way into his mouth and swallowing around him. Billy gets _loud_, fingers tightening in Steve’s hair.

Steve barely gives him a second to settle. Stretches and slicks him up, and then withdraws so that he can ease in another finger. Keeping his cock warm in his mouth, down his throat, until he's got both fingers buried deep.

Then, he pulls off, gasping and gripping the base of Billy's cock, and looks up, the head resting against his tongue and his lower lip as he starts fucking Billy with his fingers.

Billy _whines_, low and sinful. He hasn’t felt like this in ages, hasn’t had someone give this to him in longer than he’d like.

“God, baby, _baby_,” Billy says, watching the way Steve’s dark eyes blink up at him, watching the way the tip of his cock nudges at Steve’s tongue.

His cock jerks when Steve’s fingers crook. His cock drips. He groans. “You gonna fuck me, baby?” Billy asks.

"You want me to?" Steve asks, and then licks up the side of his cock from root to tip, fucking his fingers deep. "Want me in you, killer?"

Billy nods, feeling desperate. Like he hasn’t ever wanted anything more. “Fuck yeah, please baby.” He shudders, as Steve laps at the head of his cock.

Steve hums, kissing the tip like they're in a goddamn porno. "Anything you want, sweetheart."

And then he's curling his fingers again. Stretching him out. Fingers deft and so perfect inside him.

“More,” Billy says, hips arching off the bed like _that’s_ going to help. “C’mon, Steve, more.”

Impatient, needy.

Steve bites at his hip, but withdraws enough to start teasing at his rim with three fingers. "Bossy."

Billy grunts out something that sounds more like a whine than anything. He splays his thighs wide and tries to shift to get Steve's fingers _in_ him, but to no avail.

“And you're a tease,” Billy says. His dick is throbbing and still slick with Steve's spit. It jerks in Steve's hand. “You could use your cock instead. Just fuck into me with it until I'm wide open.”

"Yeah?" Steve asks, kissing down the inside of his thigh. "You want it that bad, sweetheart?"

“You woke me up with _head,_” Billy says. “Can't think of anything else right now.”

Steve laughs, dipping down and mouthing at his sac as he eases that third finger inside of him with shallow thrusts. "What if I want it _slow_?"

Billy whines, low and rough. “I think I'll _die_.”

But it sounds like the _best_ way to go.

Steve makes a soft, sympathetic sound. "Don't worry, killer. I've got you."

And then Steve is pulling away, climbing off the bed. Billy feels _bereft. _

It's almost _painful. _

But Steve is back, soothing him with hands on his thighs and a condom dangling from his teeth. On his knees, he spreads Billy's thighs and then rips the condom open, rolling it on his shaft and kissing at the inside of his knee.

Billy's stomach goes all hot. His dick twitches. He watches Steve with greedy eyes.

“Jesus, I forget how big you are.” That cock is a monster and soon it's gonna be splitting Billy open. He can't help but lift his hips in anticipation, in invitation.

Steve huffs out a breath. "You sure you're ready? Because I can keep working you on my fingers."

“Wanna feel it,” Billy says. “Shit, I wanna feel it _tomorrow_.”

He grabs at Steve's shoulders, pulling him closer and then into a kiss. His fingertips drift over Steve's skin, over his arms and then down his ribs. Up his back and then into his hair as Billy licks into his mouth.

Steve groans against his mouth, shuddering. A hand finds Billy's hip as he leans over him, and then there's the blunt pressure of Steve's cock at his entrance. Steady and steady and then pressing _in._

Steve breaks off with a gasp, staring down at him, hips jerking a little. "Fuck, you're perfect."

Steve is slow with it, but that’s fine, because Billy can feel the stretch, the desperate sort of pull. The bite of pain. God, it feels so _good_.

“Holy _shit_,” Billy breathes out, as Steve presses in a little bit more, slick with lube. “God, you’re so big.”

"Stop saying that," Steve says on a laugh, catching one of Billy's hands in his and threading their fingers, pressing it into the sheets. "You're gonna give me a fucking complex."

Billy arches underneath him, gasping out a curse as Steve fucks into him deeper.

“That so bad?” he pants out, rolling his hips to guide Steve in, in, in.

Steve withdraws, so agonizingly slow, and then fucks back in a little deeper. "Maybe not _so _bad."

Billy groans, his eyes fluttering shut. His fingers go for Steve’s back, nails digging into his skin, pulling him even closer.

“Shit, baby.” It aches, but in the best possible way, Steve’s cock splitting him open at the seams. “You feel so _good_.”

"You do too," Steve breathes, littering Billy's face with kisses, clutching at his hand as he drives in. "So good, Billy."

Billy angles his hips up, his hand going down to Steve’s ass, urging him forward.

“C’mon. Fill me up. Wanna feel you _deep_,” Billy says, catching Steve’s lips in a kiss.

Steve grunts and then bucks, burying in to the hilt. It's a lot. It's _so much. _

He freezes there, panting against Billy’s mouth, body pressing Billy’s down into the sheets.

Billy nearly chokes, then he gasps, all of the sensation hitting him at once. It _hurts_, but it feels amazing, all of his nerves alight with pleasure. “Fuck, _fuck_,” he groans out, still for a second. Then, he rolls his hips. Like he can take Steve deeper. It feels like he _can_.

Steve quakes, eyes squeezing shut for a second, and he lets out a breath like Billy physically punched it out of him. “Killer-- Billy, you’re gonna kill me. Just-- just take a second.”

Billy laughs a little, delighted and pleased and feeling so goddamn good. “You close, baby? You like being inside me?”

Steve face is flush and his breath is short as he groans. "Shut up. You feel so _good."_

Billy can’t argue. It’s a rush of pleasure, Steve being inside him like this. He could probably come soon, too, if he wasn’t trying to hold off and make it last.

“You’re so cute,” Billy says, pressing a slow kiss to Steve’s mouth.

Steve hums against his lips and then swivels his hips, rutting dirty, still pressed deep.

“Careful, baby, don’t come,” Billy warns, but it’s half-laughed, half-moaned. Because it feels so good, laughably so, that Billy’s close, too.

It feels perfect, though, not moving much. Just having Steve in him, filling him up. So intimately _close_. Billy catches him in another kiss, savoring it.

Steve's fingers flex where they're laced with his own. Then they curl tighter as Steve starts to _move_.

Dragging out slow, so that Billy feels the absence with a keen awareness before snapping back in. Licking past his teeth and catching Billy's moan on his tongue as he does it _again. _

“Fuck, _fuck_,” Billy whines out, panting, hips arching to meet Steve’s thrusts every time.

"Careful, baby, don't come," Steve says, with a lopsided grin, kissing another whine from Billy's lips as he snakes an arm under Billy's lower back, fingers splaying over his ass, hauling Billy's hips up to meet his own as he fucks in.

Billy chokes out a groan. Steve’s palm over his ass, urging him up, has his head swimming, even as Steve’s hips drive his cock deep into him. Billy’s gasping, panting, trying to kiss Steve even as he’s trying to choke out breaths.

He manages a laugh, but it’s more of another whine. “Baby, _fuck_, if you keep --” he groans, low and loud as Steve drives into him _hard_, apparently delighting at how easy he’s got Billy.

"What, killer?" Steve asks, panting above him, drawing their laced fingers higher over his head as he angles Billy's hips for him and ruts so deep and just fucking right. "Feel good? You gonna come on my cock?"

Billy nods, catching Steve’s mouth in another kiss. He angles his hips to get Steve even deeper and drags his nails down Steve’s back.

“Harder,” he breathes against Steve’s lips, “c’mon, harder, I’m so close.”

Steve groans. He angles his head over, kissing down Billy's throat. Sinks his teeth in at his pulse and snaps in hard. _Harder. _Grunts at the jarring shock of it, the bed groaning under them as Steve pounds into Billy fast and deep.

It’s the bite that does it for Billy, pushing him over the edge as Steve drives into him, filling him up, splitting him open. Without even a hand on him, he’s shooting off between them, body clenching around Steve’s cock, going tight as pleasure rolls over him like a wave. His fingers claw at Steve’s back, urging him to keep going, to fuck him through it, to _take_.

Steve does. He rolls right through it, fucking Billy through the crest of it and then the aftershocks. Fucking him until he's twitching and sensitive. Until it _hurts_ it feels so good.

And then he's slowing down. Panting as his hips shake and falter. Bucking in sharp; gasping against Billy's lips in the mockery of a kiss.

Billy kisses him messily, both of them gasping and too out of it to care.

“C’mon, baby,” Billy urges, words half lost against Steve’s lips. “Use me.”

Steve groans, letting out a half laugh of a thing. He shifts, thrusts drawing out long again, as he lets go of Billy's hand so that he can draw up-- cold air rushing between them as he rests back on his heels and draws Billy in by the hips.

"Sorry," Steve pants, pulling Billy's hips to his, coaxing a broken sound from Billy's throat. "Just admiring my handy work."

Cheesy as it is, Steve makes up for it with another pointed rock of his hips as he curves over and licks at the mess on Billy's stomach.

"God, you're beautiful," Steve says, hair a mess, sweat slicking his skin.

It’s so slow, so sweet. So goddamn intimate. It makes a full body shiver course down Billy’s spine. He feels seen, with Steve looking down at him like this, feels absolutely torn apart, but in the best way. Like Steve’s looking right at his insides.

Billy whines, the sound low in his throat, as Steve’s hips rock again, as he bites at Billy’s nipple.

“Loved feeling you come, baby.” Steve tells him, dragging it out slow and pushing in hard, grunting as Billy spams and bucks. “You felt so good. Look so pretty, all messed up for me.”

The way Steve’s angled, each thrust drags against that spot inside of him, pulling depraved noises from his throat.

He whines. His fingers grapple at Steve’s thighs. “Thought you were _close_.”

Steve laughs, breathless and lovely, as he sits back on his heels again, hooking Billy under the knees and tugging his legs around him. “What, you’ve never edged yourself off before? I’m a pro, killer. I know how to keep myself from coming too soon.”

Billy wraps his legs around Steve, hooking his ankles in the back. Steve rocks again and Billy gasps. His dick is getting soft, but every time Steve’s cock drags against that spot inside him, it twitches, pleasure shooting through him.

“Don’t be -- ah -- mean that you’re -- shit -- more experienced than me.”

“You calling me a slut, killer?” Steve asks, waggling his brow, and bucking pointedly forward into him. “Just because I know how to keep going and _going_…”

He fucks forward again, just as sharp, just as perfectly angled.

Billy closes his eyes, head falling back onto the pillows as Steve does it again. And _again._

He digs his fingers into the flesh of Steve’s thighs. When he looks down, he’s hard again, dripping at the tip.

“Fuck, _fuck_, baby,” Billy breathes out.

Steve groans, reaching down and taking Billy’s cock in hand. He strokes slow but firm.

“That’s it, killer.” Steve pants, rocking in motion with his hand. “Look at you, sweetheart. Gonna come for me again. I wanna watch.”

Billy whines. It feels like he can’t.

But Steve’s hips keep working and so does his hand.

He feels like he’s on display for Steve, like Steve’s playing him like a fucking instrument. Touching him just right to make him sing.

It’s not long before Billy’s panting, wet and breathy. Fingers digging in, clawing at Steve’s skin.

“Please, _please_,” he gets out, eyes falling closed.

“It’s okay, Billy,” Steve breathes, still moving, still pushing Billy further and further into a haze of bliss. “It’s okay. I got you, sweetheart. You can fall apart. I’ve got you.”

He does fall apart. Slowly, and then all at once. Steve jerks him through it, _fucks_ him through it, as the heat of orgasm takes him, as he spills himself into Steve’s hand.

Steve follows after him, then. It doesn’t take long, just a few more brutal thrusts. Billy’s still dizzy by the time Steve moans his name, broken, and crumbles to pieces on top of him.

Billy clutches at him, arms clumsily going around him, fingers trying to drag him closer. He’s still breathing heavy, still twitching from the aftershocks. But it’s like he can’t get Steve close enough, can’t bear to have more than a breath between the two of them.

Steve slumps in his hold. Peppers kisses along his shoulder and pets at his hips.

“Holy shit,” Billy breathes out. “Think you broke me.”

Steve laughs a little helplessly. “So, it was good for you?”

“Jesus, _was it good_,” he repeats. “It was so good. Can’t believe you fucked two orgasms out of me.” He hums, dragging his fingers down Steve’s spine. “Was it good for _you_?”

“I can barely move,” Steve huffs. “I’ll be honest, I was trying to show off a little.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks, exhausted even though he just woke up. “By trying to wreck me? I think it worked.”

“Good,” Steve hums, tilting his head and kissing his cheek. “Wanted to make you feel good.”

“Shit, you always make me feel good,” Billy says, relaxing into the pillows. “Gonna need to take a nap after that.” He hums. “What time is it? Think we probably still have time.”

"Six, I think." Steve mumbles, then carefully withdraws, pulling the condom off and tying it off before discarding it and climbing back into bed.

Billy is quick to wrap back around him, tucking his chin into the crook of Steve's shoulder. Steve is so warm, and Billy is so exhausted. Maybe it's the jet lag, or maybe it's just that Steve fucked him within an inch of his life.

“You're the best, you know that?” Billy says, a mumbled, sleepy noise against Steve's skin. His palm settles over Steve's lower back and his fingertips brush over his vertebrae. “Like you so fucking much.”

Steve kisses his forehead. A hand cradles the back of his head as Steve threads their legs together.

"I like you, too."

Billy hums, his eyes falling closed. “Good.”

\--

The trip goes perfectly. Billy is _stupid_ happy. He's tired but not as totally drained as he _usually _is after a long work trip.

He's happy and Steve's at his side as they step out of the airplane. He's holding Billy's hand and talking about dinner-- and, really, Billy should've known it would go to shit.

The second they step out to catch a Lyft home, there's the flash of cameras. The shouting of voices. At least four separate paparazzi for four separate magazines or blog sites.

"Hargrove! Can you confirm the rumors about your new boy toy?"

They've been on a plane. Billy has no _idea_ what the rumors are. It's probably about then that his phone rumbles to life with all the texts that he's missed from his manager. Probably about whatever rumors have come out.

Billy ignores them. He holds Steve's hand a little tighter.

“Don't say anything,” he says, low, as he watches for their car.

Steve is squinting, glancing away from another flash of light. "Say _what?"_

"Hargrove, is it true your boyfriend is a prostitute?" Someone shouts-- because the rats are always trying to pry into something, always trying to get a reaction.

Steve falters. "Excuse me?"

Billy holds his hand a little tighter.

“Don't say anything, baby, it's never worth it. They'll think whatever they wanna think.”

"Steve! How's it feel knowing everyone thinks you're a gold digger?"

Steve jerks a little as their ride rolls up. As Billy tries to pull him toward it.

"How do you know--?" Steve frowns as Billy pulls at his hand again. "How do they know my name?"

“They're good at their jobs,” Billy says, trying to bite back the rage he's feeling that these people are prying into his life, into _Steve's _life. That's almost worse, he thinks. “Baby, get in the car, please.”

Image is everything. Billy has to be careful, has to be nice. If they think Steve is a _prostitute_, Billy can't just shove him around.

Steve hesitates for another second, just long enough for one of them to ask Billy if he knows he's dating a _whore_. Steve sucks in a breath and then climbs into the back seat, sliding over so that Billy can follow.

Billy does.

He closes the door to blissful silence.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging a hand down his tired face. “I'm so sorry that happened. I fucking _hate_ that shit.”

Steve is looking over his shoulder, out the back of the car at the paparazzi. His face is pinched, lips thin and brows drawn.

Billy puts a hand on his thigh.

“You alright?”

"Yeah, no," Steve shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm, um. I'm fine."

“You don't have to be fine. They said some fucked up things.”

"Yeah. Yeah, they--" Steve finally looks at him. "How did they find out my _name_?"

“Well, your handle _is_ KingSteve. Maybe they just guessed. Or they found you through something else. They can find out just about anything.”

Steve makes a face. "Right. Yeah, you're-- right."

He looks like it's eating him up. “Baby,” Billy says, feeling hurt on his behalf. Billy's _used _to this. Steve? He's not. He has a little corner of the internet and that's it. “It'll blow over soon. I can make a statement or a post if you want.”

"Um. Maybe?" Steve says, clearing his throat again, and he offers a tight smile. "I know you warned me-- I guess I just… didn't expect this."

“It'll be okay. I promise,” Billy says, giving Steve's thigh another squeeze.

He hopes he's right.

"Yeah," Steve nods. "Are they-- are they gonna follow us?"

“No, they'll probably stick around there waiting for someone else to land. We can order in, tonight, if you want.” Then, he pauses. Frowns. He hadn't even considered. “Unless you wanna go home? I don't want to, like, keep you from anything. I get if you want some space.”

"I just--" Steve shifts. "I don't want them following me to my _house_."

“We won't go there then. My buildings got great security. If you need anything from yours, we can go at night, how 'bout that?”

Steve nods. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks."

He catches Billy's hand and threads their fingers. Squeezes tight.

He's quiet the rest of the way to Billy's.

\--

“Do you want me to call my publicist?” Billy asks, once they get inside and drop their stuff. Steve settles down on Billy’s couch, looking on edge. “We can talk about what to post and how to deal with this.”

Luckily, _luckily_, Billy isn't famous enough for it to linger. Hell, it might actually boost his popularity, as long as they handle it right.

"Do we have to? Like, can't we just… ignore it for a little while?" Steve asks, fidgeting with his phone; it's off, Billy notes, like Steve doesn't want to turn it on.

“We _can_, but the longer it lingers the longer they have to speculate. And dig. If you get there first, you can handle the way the information gets out. And, at least partially, to what extent it gets out, too.”

Billy sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders, unsure. He's never been great at emotions, or comforting people.

Steve doesn't settle in against him. Shrugs a little, in fact, like maybe he doesn't want to be touched. But he sets a hand on Billy's knee and nods.

"Yeah, okay." Steve says, but it doesn't _sound _okay. "I guess-- I mean, you know what you're doing more than I do."

“If you want me to wait I can wait. Give you time to think about what you want to say. If you want to say anything.”

He takes his arm off of Steve's shoulder and instead puts his hand over Steve's.

"I don't wanna say anything," Steve replies, quick.

“Okay,” Billy says, patient. “Then I'll say something. Or -- do you not want me to say anything at all?”

"Just--" Steve cuts himself off, pushing to his feet so abruptly that he nearly clips Billy's chin with an elbow as his hands draw up to sink into his hair. "I don't _care_! Okay? I don't care. Do-- _whatever_."

Steve paces away a few feet. Billy feels frozen, still and a little surprised, as Steve buries his face in his hands and starts breathing _hard. _As he stands there, trembling slightly, panting into his own palms.

“Hey,” Billy says, voice soft.

He's _lost_. Not because he doesn't understand why Steve is freaking out, but because he doesn't know how to help. 

“Baby, it's going to be okay.”

Billy pushes up from the couch and goes to Steve, putting his arms on Steve's shoulders.

Steve instantly shies away, wincing and rasping in another breath. "_Don't. _Sorry-- just-- I need. I need a second, okay?"

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out, taking a step back. Hands up. Something sour twists in his gut. “Yeah, okay.”

He watches as Steve digs his palms in at his eyes. As his jaw clenches. As he very pointedly sucks in a stuttering breath through his nose and then exhales hard through his mouth. As he does it again. As he does it _again. _

Steve's fighting off a panic attack, Billy realizes. He's fighting one off, right in front of Billy, and Billy can't do _anything. _

Billy wants to help. But he doesn't know how. Doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Steve said not to touch him, to leave him _alone_. So Billy just stands there, feeling like an _asshole_ and waits.

And waits.

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, after a _while_ of just standing there, breathing, and when his hands drop, his eyes are wet. "Told you. Total mess in real life."

“Can I touch you?” Billy aches with it, with the need to hold Steve. He's _crying, _and Billy's doing _nothing_. 

"Yeah," Steve nods, rubbing at his arms, like he's cold. "Yeah, sorry."

Billy bundles Steve into his arms, pulling him close. “Don't apologize. _I'm _sorry. If you were dating anyone else, this wouldn't be a thing.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, fingers curling into Billy's shirt, nose tucking up under his jaw. "It's not a big deal. My head is just… I just catastrophized in my head there, for a second. Freaked myself out. I know it's not-- _Logically_, it's not a big deal."

“It's reasonable,” Billy says. “It _sucks_. And it sucks it happened so fast.”

"Yeah," Steve says. "Didn't think we'd get ambushed outside of LAX."

“Yeah, I didn't expect it either.”

Steve is tense in his arms for a while. Billy smoothes his hand down his back until that rigidity eases and Steve's huffing against his neck.

"Is it okay if I let you and your publicist handle this?" he asks.

“Yeah,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I gotta know some things first though. Like, is it okay if I call you my boyfriend?”

"Yeah," Steve says on a laugh. "You can call me your boyfriend."

“Can I mention what you do for a living, or would you rather I not address it?”

Steve breathes out slow. "You can mention it."

“Not if you don't want me to. I can just say you are _definitely _not a prostitute, if you'd prefer that.”

"No, it's-- I mean, it's obvious that they already _know_." Steve says, sighing. "Can I stay here tonight? I'm tired."

“Yeah, baby. Of course you can. I can make the call tomorrow morning.”

"No, you can do it now." Steve assures, pulling back to meet his gaze. "I'm just gonna shower. Get the airplane off me. Then climb into bed."

Billy presses a kiss to Steve's lips. Runs his palm down Steve's spine.

“Okay. I'll meet you in bed, huh?”

"Yeah," Steve nods, leaning in and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Billy watches Steve walk toward the bedroom. Once he's in it, door closed behind him, Billy sinks himself down onto the couch, just to take a few deep breaths. Steve is clearly worked up about this new development, and it's not that Billy isn't -- he's just _used_ to it. He's not famous enough for people to be hugely into his business, so he knows it'll blow over soon -- but he _also_ knows it's more of a scandal than him dating another model, or an actor, or even a politician. Steve is a sex worker, full time. There's no way this wouldn't end up huge gossip rag fodder once it came out -- it's just that Billy thought they would have more _time_. 

\--

He calls his manager once he's a little calmer, and she's clearly expecting him because she picks up on the first ring. The conversation is short and she's definitely _not_ happy with him, but she sets out some wording for a post and Billy sends her a picture for it. It's of Steve and him smiling in the middle of London. She posts it, Billy looks it over, smiling at the picture of Steve and him, at the caption of _boyfriend_ underneath.

When he comes back to the room, Steve's already in bed.

“You wanna see the post?” Billy asks.

Steve is curled up under the sheets, hair still damp and skin still pink from the shower. He props his head up on his hand and shrugs.

He looks tired, but awake. Like he nearly drained himself with anxiety earlier.

"Is it anything I don't know?" he asks.

“No, but the picture is cute. And I got to call you my boyfriend, so.”

Steve smiles, a bit crooked, none of that panic in him from before, and nods. "Yeah, okay."

Billy passed over his phone. The same post is on instagram and twitter, as well as his personal website.

Steve scrolls, brow arching as he reads through the post. When he's done, he frowns, looking up at Billy.

"You… you admitted you were my customer," Steve says. "Before we met."

“You think anyone would believe otherwise? That it was just a coincidence?”

“No, I was just…” Steve shrugs. “I thought you’d leave that out. Preserve your image, you know?”

“I’m not trying to take some moral high ground, here. There’s nothing wrong with what you do, and there’s nothing wrong with your customer base, either. As long as they treat you with respect.”

Steve stares at him for a second. Then, he tosses Billy’s phone aside and pushes up, reaching out and catching Billy by the back of the neck to reel him down into a messy kiss. It’s sort of surprising, but Billy folds into it so readily, going loose against Steve, pressing against him like he’s cold, like he can’t get enough.

He licks into Steve’s mouth and wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, pulling him flush.

“So, s’okay?” Billy asks against Steve’s lips.

“It’s fine,” Steve breathes back, pulling him into the bed with him, skin so warm; positively inviting. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Billy hums and presses himself in close. Pulls Steve on top of him. “I think you’re blinded by my good looks,” he says.

Steve shifts as Billy hauls him overtop of him, knees grounding against the sheets, and hands sneaking up under Billy’s shirt to brace against his abdomen. He kisses him again, long and slow, and then tilts his head over to kiss his cheek.

“Nah,” Steve says. “You’re just-- _god_, Billy. You’re too damn good to be true. Should run the other way before it turns out you’re an axe murdering drug mule or something.”

“I’m really not that great,” Billy says. “I mean, I’m pretty as hell, and I’ve got a pile of money, but.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. “I’m not the best at long term shit. I’ve got anger problems. I’ve been told by every person I’ve ever met that I’m an _asshole_.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Steve says, rucking Billy’s shirt up higher, fingers splaying out along the ladder of Billy’s ribs. “But you’re sweet to me. Willing to fess up to being my client before you were my boyfriend. So.”

“I mean, I’ll take full credit for that. But also, would anyone believe I _wasn’t_?”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, well. You could’ve lied and I’m sure _most_ people would’ve believed you.”

“That’s not the way tabloids work. If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Next thing you know, I’m paying you to be my escort, and it’s believable because I haven’t denied it profusely. This way, at least _maybe_ they’ll believe that you somehow fell for my charming personality, instead.”

Steve smiles, sliding a hand along Billy’s jaw and tilting his head up. “But I _did_ fall for your charming personality. And your abs.”

“I think it was my abs first, maybe,” Billy says. “Or that I kept buying you out so you had no choice but to talk to me.”

“I dunno,” Steve says, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips once, twice, three times. “I seem to remember you paying nearly a grand just to talk to me while you were sick. That’s pretty fuckin’ cute.”

“I was _really_ sick, baby,” Billy says. He steals back one of the kisses. “Feverish. Can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

“No?” Steve asks, and then kisses his forehead and hums. “I think you’re feeling a little warm _now_, killer. Should I be worried about your _actions_?”

Billy grins. He lets it slide wide. He’s feeling so good, despite how shitty he felt earlier, how blindsided and nervous and _worried_. “Maybe,” he says. He nips at Steve’s jaw. “Can never trust myself when I’m feverish.”

Steve shudders on top of him. Billy can hear his breath catch.

“Bet you’re awful clingy,” Steve says, shuffling above him, until he’s less laying on top of Billy and more straddling his thighs. “And I just got clean. Would hate for you to get me all sweaty.”

Billy’s still fully clothed. Steve -- isn’t. It’s a stark contrast, and Billy can’t help the tug of heat it brings to his belly. “Yeah,” he breathes out, palms going for the warm, shower-hot flesh of Steve’s legs. Dragging up and up. “That would be a real tragedy.”

“Total bummer,” Steve nods, but his fingers are in Billy’s hair, pulling and dragging through as he tips Billy’s head back and kisses along his jaw. “Would totally suck. Getting all gross after I got so clean.”

“Yeah, I mean, only a monster would let that happen,” Billy says.

Steve’s hands trail like temptation itself down Billy’s chest, his stomach, his hips-- and then back up again, fingers sinking under his shirt and dragging against his skin. “And you’re not a monster. Are you, killer?”

Billy makes a noise, low in his throat, as his fingertips palm down Steve’s thighs. Drifting over the hair, the muscle. His skin is so warm. He still smells like shower. Billy _wants_.

His mouth waters.

“What if I clean up after myself?” Billy says.

Steve stares down at him, humming, and one of his thumbs finds Billy’s right nipple-- teasing at the skin as he gives a little rock of his hips. “I guess I could make an exception, then.”

“Mm. In that case,” Billy says. He arches under Steve’s touch.

Then, he’s moving. Flipping Steve over onto the bed and crowding on top of him. Steve barely even gets a chance to settle before Billy’s flipping Steve onto his stomach, sprawled out on top of him and pressing kisses into the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve turns his head, cheek pressing to the sheets, laughing breathlessly as Billy kisses along the back of his shoulder. He cants his hips back, up, like a blatant invitation; hooking a foot around one of Billy’s ankles.

“You don’t play around, do you, killer?”

“Nope,” Billy says. “But I figure if I do _all_ the work, you won’t get too dirty, right?”

He grins as he presses kisses along the knots of Steve’s spine, taking his time with it, spreading his fingers over the breadth of Steve’s ribs. As his mouth trails down, Steve’s back curves under his lips, breath leaving him in a little rush as he shivers under Billy’s weight.

“I feel like that’s a plan that’s guaranteed to go horribly wrong,” Steve mumbles, but he’s definitely not arguing, shifting and getting comfortable on his stomach as Billy kisses over his skin.

“Mm. I promised to clean you up, though.”

Billy moves lower. Down to the arch of Steve’s back, hands slipping underneath his hips. He kisses down to Steve’s tailbone, laps his tongue over the beginning of the swell of Steve’s right cheek. He bites, just a gentle trail of his teeth over his skin. Does the same on the other side.

Steve groans. His hips shift and pull in Billy’s hands, but he’s got a good grip and Steve can’t move far.

“_Fuck_,” Steve breathes, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to one of the spots where he bit. It’s warm underneath his tongue, radiating heat.

Billy doesn’t tease for _too_ long. He eventually flattens out his tongue and licks down Steve’s crack, holding him steady with his hands underneath his hips.

Steve gasps, spine curving. Billy’s fingers dig in at his hips, keeping him steady, and when Steve moans, low and filthy, it sends heat straight to his gut. Pulls taut there and coils because Steve goes pliant for him. Spreads his knees a little and buries his face in the bed to muffle another curse.

It’s hot as shit, having Steve writhe and groan underneath him. Billy needs more of it, but he knows how to get it, easy. He angles Steve up a little more, buries his face between Steve’s cheeks, and laps at him, at the sensitive nerves at the center of him. Billy doesn’t wait, just pushes in with his tongue, feeling the heat and the tightness yield to the wet invasion.

“Oh, jesus _christ_,” Steve gasps out, a leg kicking against the bed as he spasms and twitches, a needy whine chasing his words. “Oh, fuck _me_, jesus, Billy.”

Billy just hums. He loves having Steve like this, so desperate for him, squirming. Billy gives him more, eating him out like he’s starved for it, fucking into him with his tongue just to pull out and lap at him more, getting him nice and dripping.

Steve’s panting. Trembling a little, holding himself up on his elbows, trying to rut back. Billy holds him still, grins as he whines, and presses back in, using his thumbs to spread Steve open. He fucks him with his tongue, deep and slow, listening to the way Steve hisses and moans, feeling the way his hips jerk in his hold. Savoring the way Steve spits another curse when he stays deep, eating him out with deft flexes and curls of his tongue.

“_Fuck_, Billy, _please_,” Steve gasps, _writhing_ for him, squirming over the bed as he tries to get more.

Billy pulls back, just to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the meat of Steve’s ass. While his mouth is busy, he pushes into Steve with his fingers, using the slide of his spit to ease the way.

“Begging for me already?” Billy asks. “C’mon, baby, I could do this for _hours_.”

Steve groans, his head hanging between his shoulders, his body _rocking_. He takes Billy’s fingers easy, so fucking easy, like he was made for it.

“Your mouth is a _crime_,” Steve breathes, gasping out when Billy curls his fingers and circles over that knot of nerves, making Steve’s thighs _shake_ as his cock weeps between his legs.

“Is that a _complaint_?” Billy asks lapping over where his fingers are splitting Steve open, adding more spit to the mess. “Am I not being nice enough?” Billy asks, twisting his fingers again, dragging over that spot as Steve’s hips buck.

Steve whines. It's a pitiful, needy sound, and he rocks back again.

"You're being _mean_," Steve says.

“No one said you couldn’t come,” Billy says, as he drags another one of those sounds from Steve’s throat. “But I’m definitely not done with you.”

Steve shudders. A lovely, full bodied _quake_ as he gasps out. As Billy strokes in and spreads him on his fingers.

Billy watches as Steve braces a forearm on the bed, resting his forehead against it. Watches as he licks his own palm and reaches between his legs to wrap his fingers around his cock. Watches as he strokes, slow, in time with the idle pace of Billy's fingers as he pants and moans.

“You can’t come from just my fingers?” Billy asks, biting at Steve’s ass. But he doesn’t exactly _stop_ him.

Steve groans, hips jerking. "Maybe you need to up your game."

Billy _grunts_ and huffs out a smile. He’s always loved a challenge. He spits into Steve’s hole, works two fingers out of him, and works in three. Filling him up, splitting him open so goddamn wide. It’s obscene to look at, the pale swell of Steve’s ass with Billy’s fingers stretching him out like this.

"Oh, _fuck_," Steve hisses, dropping his hand from his cock in order to clutch at the sheets, sucking in breath after breath.

He rocks with it. With the motion of Billy fucking him with his fingers. Whining helplessly and burying his face against the bed.

Billy pushes in. Stretching Steve even further. Watching as his body yields to Billy’s invasion. He crooks his fingers and works them in, gliding them over that spot that makes Steve scream.

“C’mon, baby, I know you can come on my fingers like this,” Billy urges him. He pushes in just a little bit more. “Your body’s taking me so easily. Letting me open you up. Mm. You think I can get another finger in there?”

A stream of noise comes, muffled against the bedding, from Steve's mouth. Billy bites at that sensitive skin where Steve's thigh curves up into the pert swell of his ass. Hard enough to make Steve yelp and startle, head coming up as he spasms tight around his fingers.

"_Yes_," Steve rasps, a low moan welling up from his throat and drawing out the word. "Yes_yes_\-- Billy, _please_\--"

Slowly, Billy works his fingers out of Steve. Then, he grabs the lube and slicks up his fingers, all four of them. He presses his lips to the smooth skin of Steve’s ass, and begins pressing the tips of two fingers into Steve, then three -- and then, starts stretching at his rim with the tip of his fourth.

Steve _sobs. _It's a broken, beautiful sound, and he fists at the sheets. Panting. Trembling.

And as Billy works four fingers into him, Steve comes apart. Spills out across the sheets, cock pulsing between his legs, spasming tight around Billy's fingers as he sobs in shuddering breaths through it.

Billy talks him through it, tells him he’s doing so good, taking it so well. He stops pushing in, just lets Steve spasm around his fingers as he comes, as the orgasm washes over him.

“You’re so hot, baby. So good. Look at you.”

Steve moans, delirious and drawn out, shuddering through an aftershock as he slumps, panting heavy and gasping in breath after breath. He's lovely and spent and flush. His fingers unfurl as he comes back down.

"_Jesus_," Steve slurs.

Billy’s fingers are still inside him. Steve occasionally tenses around him. It’s such a hot feeling. Billy fucking _loves_ it; he’s addicted.

“Wanna keep going?” Billy asks, though he’s already moving his fingers a little, twisting them inside Steve.

Steve grunts, eyes fluttering and then rolling back as Billy touches and moves inside of him. His hips stutter forward, mouth falling open as he gasps.

"_God_," Steve breathes. "Whatever you want, killer."

Billy keeps his motions slow. Doesn’t want to wear Steve out too early. He wants it to feel _good_.

He knows he’s splitting Steve open wide. It’s a beautiful fucking sight.

He presses in a little deeper, just because he knows he _can_. Because he knows Steve can take it, and because he loves watching the way Steve _does_ take it.

Steve chokes out a sound and his abdomen flinches and pulls taut. It's not a pained movement-- just an overwhelmed one. Steve pants in short, sharp breaths, toes curling as a whine wells up from his throat.

_"Fffuck_, Billy," he moans.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, grinning as he feels Steve’s body start to take him, as he watches Steve open up around his fingers. “That feel good, baby?”

It’s a fucking _thrill_, having Steve like this. Opening him up so goddamn wide.

Billy wants to fuck him. Wants Steve to be so loose around him.

Steve grunts. He rocks as Billy moves his fingers, whining, a little delirious. Fingers curling into the sheets.

"S'good," he mumbles. "So good."

“Is it _that_ good, yet? You gonna make another mess for me?” Billy asks. It sounds kind of like it is, but maybe Steve’s still over-sensitive. Strung out from his previous orgasm.

Steve groans, low and soft, and shudders. "You're gonna kill me."

He doesn't mind if Steve is close again or not. What really matters is all the little things. Like the wet waver in Steve's voice, the way he shivers with just the right press of Billy's fingers, the way his breathing catches when Billy pushes in just a little bit further.

Steve's body is scalding around his fingers. So hot, so tight, so wet. It's sinful, really. Billy can't believe Steve hasn't ever taken a fist. He's already so close, just like this, body splayed wide, almost completely around Billy's knuckles.

“You're so good for me, baby,” Billy says, voice low and a little in awe.

He reaches around Steve's body and grabs his dick with a lube-slick hand, thumbing over the head of him, working over his length nice and slow. He twists his fingers, pressing down against the spot that makes Steve's breath cut short.

Steve's voice pitches high. He scrambles, eyes squeezing shut, jaw falling loose, body _quaking. _A hand finds Billy's wrist, but it doesn't do much more than cling, fingers wrapped tight, as Billy fills him up while he pumps over his cock until it's fully hard and warm in his palm.

Steve's entire body seizes through a shiver of overwhelmed pleasure. He whines, and then whines again, Billy's name breaking over his lips like it's so much he can't even get the words out.

It's a rush of power, feeling Steve this strung out underneath him. He feels dizzy with it, blood hot and thoughts foggy.

“You want my cock, baby? Want me to fill you up?” Billy asks. He works his fingers in just a little bit more, pumping his hand so slowly, working at the ring of sensitive muscle. “Maybe I'll give it to you if you come for me one more time.”

Steve's pants in heavy, sharp bursts of breath. He shakes his head a little, eyes dazed when Billy gets a proper look at his face, and his throat works around another desperate noise.

"Can't," Steve gasps out, but he clenches around Billy's fingers and his cock weeps in his fist. "_Ah, Billy-- _please-- _haa, I can't."_

“Aw, _that's _a lie,” he says. “I've watched you get off multiple times. I know you can. You just gotta stop thinking about it, stop telling yourself you can't.”

Steve's cock is so hard in his hand, now, and Billy thumbs over the tip of it, smearing the precome that's gathered there. Steve jerks with it, so sensitive. So overwhelmed.

“Just _enjoy_ it,” Billy tells him.

Steve groans, from the back of his throat, his eyes rolling back as Billy teases and touches. His hips _move_, lurching forward into Billy’s touch, and then back, stuttering little bursts and shakes of motion. He pants, jaw winding tight, teeth bearing.

Billy wants to see him shatter, like this, totally and completely.

“Yeah, baby,” Billy breathes out, absolutely enthralled in watching Steve move. Captivated by the way Steve rocks into and against his hands. “Take what you need. You're being so good for me.”

Steve is glistening. His hair is plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck. He's flush, his cock pulsing in Billy's grip, his body moving with Billy's guidance-- seeking and shying from pleasure all at once.

He's close, Billy knows it. Feels it, with the way Steve tightens up and bucks.

Billy helps him along. Drags his knuckles over that spot of nerves inside Steve and presses in on each thrust of his hand. Grips his dick a little tighter and thumbs over his head with each rock of Steve's hips.

Billy coaxes the pleasure out of him. Wrings him dry with his hands, his fingers, until Steve’s sobbing against the bed as he spills across the sheets in messy, sporadic bursts. Sticky and _so hot_ because he’s sobbing _Billy’s name_ as he comes, spasming and fluttering around his fingers, writhing through it like it’s _too much_.

Billy shushes him through it, pressing his lips to the small of Steve's back, to his ribs, to his shoulders. His skin is so slick with sweat, salty and divine. Billy touches him until Steve’s jerking away from him, and only then does he let go, even slowing the rock of his fingers inside Steve.

“So good, baby, you did so good.”

Steve's hole is still fluttering around Billy's fingers. Hot and tight. Billy's _aching_, now. But he can wait. Because Billy leans forward and catches Steve in a loose, hungry kiss.

Steve barely kisses him back. His mouth is open, loose, tongue lazy as he pants against his lips. Too dazed to respond properly. Too broken to pieces and split open on Billy’s fingers.

“Billy,” he says, croaks really, voice rough and used. “God, Billy, _please_.”

Billy doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Billy doesn’t think _Steve_ knows what he’s begging for.

“You want my cock, baby?” Billy asks. His voice low, nearly as rough as Steve’s, even though he hasn’t been wrung out. He just kinda _feels_ like it, after watching Steve lose it so completely. “You think you can take it? I don’t wanna break you.”

Even as he talks, Billy slowly, _slowly_, works his fingers free from Steve and jerks himself a couple times, unable to stop himself. He’s so hard it hurts, even though he’s barely paid attention to himself -- all of his focus on Steve.

Steve nods, slow, in a haze. His eyes are so dark when they meet Billy's.

"Wanna feel you," Steve mumbles.

“Wanna feel you, too,” Billy says, and gives Steve another kiss. “You wanna stay like that, or you wanna be on your back?”

Steve shivers. "Like this. Just-- want you."

Billy can do that. “Whatever you want, baby.” He’d give Steve anything in the world, anything at all he ever asked for.

"No condom," Steve says. "You haven't-- you said you hadn't--"

"You sure? Last I got tested I was clean, but--"

"Trust you. _Please_."

It’s easy, draping himself over Steve’s body, letting his chest press up against the warm, sweat-drenched skin of Steve’s back.

Steve’s so open for him, so wet and stretched, that Billy barely even has to try and then he’s pressing in, cock sliding into the slick heat of Steve’s body. It’s so easy, so _good_, and he suddenly feels so _close_ to Steve, so intimately connected with him that he can’t help but gasp out Steve’s name in a breath.

“Holy shit,” Billy says, pressing his lips to Steve’s shoulder, bottoming out as Steve spasms around him. “God, baby, you feel -- so fucking good.”

Steve groans under him. Billy feels it thrum up through his chest and echoes the sound with one of his own.

Steve squirms, keening, and Billy feels him spasm. Feels him flutter and clench up around his cock as his hips twitch, as if to shy away from him. As if it's all too much.

"Fuck," Steve breathes, shaking a little, whimpering as his body squeezes Billy tight. "Fuck, Billy, you're-- feel _so full. _You're-- it's-- gonna break me. It's--"

It goes straight to Billy's gut, hearing Steve babble. Knowing that Billy got him to this point-- so overwhelmed and so damn sensitive that it's too much for him. That just having Billy inside him makes him feel stuffed totally full to the point of breaking to bits.

“It's okay, baby, I got you,” he says, pressing his lips to the side of Steve's face, getting a hand in his hair. “You can take it. You took more of my fingers than my cock, this isn't too bad. Just a little deeper, yeah?”

Billy feels like he can barely breathe with it, like he's just as overwhelmed as Steve.

“You need a second, baby?” Billy asks, soothing his hand over Steve's head. He tries not to move his hips, but can't help rocking them just the slightest bit. “I can wait.”

Steve whines, eyes fluttering and rolling back as Billy ruts. "_God! _Just-- Billy, baby, just _fuck me._"

Billy moans as Steve's body tenses around him. He _needs_, so badly, and Steve feels so good. He rolls his hips again, and then again, because Steve told him to. It's such an easy slide, and Steve is still so hot and tight around him, even with how wide Billy worked him open.

“You feel so good for me,” Billy breathes, slowly fucking Steve down against the bed. “God, you're so good.”

Steve clutches at the sheets. He grunts, every time Billy fucks into him, like the breath and the sound is punched right out of him.

Billy wraps him up in his arms as he moves. Kisses at his shoulders and his neck. Listens to the way Steve's moans turn and twist into _sobs_. Wavering and saccharine sweet with pleasure, voice _dripping _with it, as he lets Billy _use him_.

Billy takes his time. Enjoys it. Eeking every last ounce of pleasure from each movement, each thrust. They have hours. So Billy keeps it slow, beautifully indulgent. Until he's watching Steve's fingers twist in the sheets.

“Feeling good, baby?” Billy asks.

Steve hiccups out a noise. "Yes-- _yes, god_, I--"

He squirms under him. Bucks and gasps out. Sobs against the sheets as Billy rocks forward again.

"You're--" Steve breathes heavy. "Love you inside me. Love-- _fuck, Billy_."

He's so strung out. So loose and lost in it. Billy reaches a hand underneath him and gets his fingers around Steve's cock. It's hard again, smeared with cooling come from rocking into his own release.

“You like this?” Billy asks. “Like the feeling of me using you like this?”

Steve's breath pitches higher. He trembles as the muscles under his skin pull taut, straining both away and toward his touch.

He nods, helplessly and haplessly, choking on his words and then letting them rush out of him. "Yes. _Yesyes_, I-- love it. _Haa_, Billy, you-- would let you-- _anything. _Anything, I'd let you do-- _fuck."_

It's so hot. Steve is getting so tight. Billy wants to fuck into him harder. Wants to take his own pleasure. But Steve is getting louder, like maybe Billy can wring just one more out of him.

“Anything?” Billy asks. “Can you come for me again, then, baby?”

He pumps his hand over Steve's cock, working him over with wet, slick fingers. He feels it kick in his hand. Feels Steve _quake _under him. Feels him quiver and jerk.

He ruts in, rocking steady and deep, just to feel the way Steve clings to him-- wet, perfect _heat_ spasming around his cock. He twists his wrist a little and bucks in sharp, just once, just to hear Steve cry out. Just to get him to smack at the bed with a hand and scramble for purchase.

"_Please, please-- _Billy, I can't-- _I can't_\--" and Billy hears how his voice cracks, how it breaks, and how Steve starts shaking, like he's _crying_.

Billy thinks about stopping. But they've talked about this. Billy knows when to slow down, when to stop. But Steve hasn't told him to. Has just told Billy he can't. Which sounds like a challenge.

He twists his wrist again as he drives in hard, deep.

“Yeah, you can,” Billy says. “You're gonna be so good for me, aren't you?”

Steve jerks at the sheets. Slaps a hand against the headboard to brace himself as Billy fucks him. Pants heavy and fast, whine threading through it.

Billy can feel it. Feel the way he winds tight. Feel the way he's hanging on the edge. The way he gets closer and closer with every motion.

His voice is wet and choked-- a mess of pleas, of Billy's name.

Billy clenches his own teeth. Holds himself off as he drives into Steve's tight heat. It's the hottest thing ever -- not just the way Steve feels, but the way he looks, the way he sounds. Billy's addicted, he can't get enough.

“That's it,” Billy says, hand working, hips snapping. “You can do it. Just like that, baby, just like that.”

Each inward thrust has Steve crying out now. So loud, so twisted in an agonized bliss, that Billy's half grateful he doesn't have neighbors close enough to hear it.

It's obscene.

But then Steve is faltering. Locking up. Breath catching and then stalling. And then he's coming, jerking through it, gasping out, and sobbing as Billy fucks him through it. Wrings him out. Spine curving as he shudders and shakes and wails through the release-- violent and utterly breathtaking.

He barely even spills into Billy’s hand -- but Billy can feel his whole body tighten with it, practically convulsing. He wrings Billy out, each shudder, each wave of pleasure. Billy fucks him through it, open-mouthed and gasping against the skin of Steve’s shoulder, until he’s coming too. Following Steve into oblivion.

“Baby,” Billy breathes out, finding his voice and his vision again, still buried deep in Steve’s heat. They’re both still shuddering with it. Absolutely wrecked -- Steve, more so than Billy. “Steve, god, you’re so -- so perfect. That was so -- _fuck_.”

Steve’s throat works around a whine. He doesn’t say anything-- maybe can’t say anything-- too busy trying to find his breath. Trying to swim his way back from a rapturous daze.

Billy pulls out of him slow. Stares, maybe a little too long, at the way his come slips out and rolls down toward Steve's thighs. Bundles Steve into his arms so that Steve’s chest is to Billy’s, Steve’s face against Billy’s neck.

“C’mere, baby. You okay? You did so good.” Billy smooths a hand down Steve’s back, through his hair. Just -- touching him. Everywhere, all over.

Steve grunts, pressing in close, uncaring of the mess between them and on their skin. Still panting against Billy’s collar, winded and flush, twitching occasionally.

“M’good,” Steve breathes.

Billy doesn’t stop talking at him, little hushed things of praise and affection.

Eventually, when both of their breathing is a little more even, Billy finds Steve’s lips in a kiss. Loose and slow, lazy and affectionate. It feels like Steve’s so close to him, even more so now than earlier, when Billy had been inside him. He feels warm, and good, and _solid_. His whole body absolutely alight with it.

Steve’s eyes are heavy when he pulls back enough to look at him. His lashes are wet, clinging together, cheeks still damp. Steve tilts his head, bumping his nose with Billy’s.

“Can’t move,” he mumbles. “You broke me.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re pretty when you’re broken. Can I get you some water?” Billy asks, pressing a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips. They taste like sweat.

He should probably get them cleaned up, too. Even if Steve doesn’t _want_ to get up, even if he doesn’t have the strength for it, he really shouldn’t be waking up the mess Billy made him make.

Steve nods a little, blinking slow. "Please."

Billy kisses him again, then ducks into the bathroom to turn the bath on. He moves to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, both for Steve. He can still hear the tub filling. He passes over the glass of water and then breaks off a piece of the chocolate.

“We gotta get you cleaned up,” he says, as he hands over the small piece. “Don’t worry, I’ll do most of the work. I made the mess, I should clean it up.”

Steve smiles at him, lazy and sweet, sitting up carefully to sip at the water and leaning heavy against the headboard. "You're kinda perfect, you know?"

But Steve's sitting there, still sweaty and flush, face a mess from _crying_ while Billy _fucked him_. Shivery and pliant from letting Billy wring three consecutive orgasms out of him.

And Billy's supposed to be the perfect one?

He can’t help but smile. He offers the piece of chocolate from his fingers. When Steve opens his mouth, Billy places it on his tongue and then follows that with a soft kiss.

“Takes one to know one. C’mon. Finish that up. We’ll get you into the bath, and then I’ll maybe let you sleep.”

Steve hums around his chocolate, reaching out when Billy offers his hand, letting him help him to his feet. He's a little wobbly-- which, honestly, is expected-- and he leans into Billy the whole way to the bathroom.

He thinks about the times that talked about Steve having intense sessions on his stream and not liking having to handle it alone. Billy's chest warms knowing he gets to be here _now_.

_He_ gets to be the one to help Steve through the aftermath of intensity. It feels -- intimate. Weighty.

Important.

“You want me in the tub with you? Or outside?” Billy asks, as he turns off the water and helps lower Steve into the water. It’s a big tub, plenty large enough for two.

"With me," Steve says, still holding his hand, groaning at the warmth.

Once Steve is situated, Billy settles in behind him. Steve leans up against Billy’s chest, in between the V of Billy’s legs. He’s still so warm. Billy can’t help but touch him, gliding his hands over Steve’s taut muscles and the bumps of his ribs.

“Thank you for that,” Billy says, pressing a kiss behind Steve’s ear.

Steve hums, tilting his head over and finding Billy's hands with his own in the water. "Should thank you. Don't think anyone's ever done that to me. Not like that."

“They should. That was, like, the hottest goddamn thing,” Billy says. He laces his fingers in with Steve’s, squeezing his hands tight. “Seriously, you’re so hot when you come. It’s rewarding as hell, getting you there. Being allowed to take you apart like that.”

He leans forward, pulling Steve close to his chest in a hug. He feels warm inside, _mushy_. Like he just can’t get enough of Steve’s everything.

Steve laughs a little, thumbs dragging over the backs of Billy's hands, wiggling back to rest more fully against him. Trusting him to take his weight.

"Anytime you want, killer," Steve tells him. "I'm right here for the taking."

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Billy says with a smile. He soaps up his hands with lavender soap and runs them over Steve’s skin. “But right now, I think you’re kinda spent up, huh?”

Steve shifts a little, arching as Billy cleans him up. "I mean… it would take some _work_, but I've gotten off more than three times in a day."

Billy hums. “That sounds like a challenge.”

"Jesus," Steve laughs, breathless, and tilts his head to kiss and nip at Billy's jaw. "You'll ruin me."

“Only temporarily,” Billy says, melting into the press of Steve's lips. “Only temporarily.”

He slides a soapy hand down the slope of Steve's stomach and lets his fingers drift over his soft cock, touching lightly. Just idly playing.

Steve shudders. It's an almost violent thing, the way he quakes in Billy's hold and then sucks in a breath.

He laughs. "You weren't kidding about liking getting me off, were you?"

“_Why_ would I lie about that?” Billy says, fingertip tracing over the head of Steve's cock. “Jesus, you're like a _drug_.”

It's true, though, as weird as it is to say. Billy's _obsessed_ with Steve, with touching and tasting and taking him. He wants to wring every last thing out of Steve, wants him loose and pliable and so, _so_ satiated. He wants Steve to feel good, wants to be the one giving him that.

Steve strains, at least a little, keening as Billy touches him. Curls his fingers around his wrists, loose facsimiles of something that could mean _stop_ but definitely _doesn't_.

"Gonna get high off me, killer?"

“Maybe,” Billy says, holding Steve a little tighter to his chest, nosing at his damp hair. He keeps his touching light, teasing. He's got time. They both do. “Maybe I already am, hm?”

Steve huffs a little, eyes fluttering shut, sinking into Billy. His mouth falls open a bit, lips parted on his breath, still shallow and steady for now.

"Fuck," Steve breathes, shifting, the water rocking in the tub.

Billy's heart pounds in his chest in empathy. His own cock twitches in interest between them, but he's way more focused on Steve.

“Feel good, baby?” Billy asks. He can feel Steve getting a little harder in his hand, but it's slow.

Steve throat works around a sound. Soft. _Ravenous. _

His fingers tighten further around Billy's wrists. He doesn't pull. Just holds on. Rides out the way Billy touches and teases him under the water.

"Love your hands," Steve mumbles, panting a little now. "Love when you touch me."

“Yeah?” Billy asks, teasing around the tip of Steve's cock again, laughing softly as Steve shifts and squirms in his arms. “You want me to keep touching you?”

"Always," Steve says, and it sounds _heavy_. Weighted. Like he means more than just this.

Billy can deal with that. It sounds more than perfect.

“Forever, baby,” he says.

It's a little while before Steve gets truly hard in Billy's hand -- and even then, he's still a little soft. A little spent. Billy's loosely jacking him now, slow and steady, working him over in the gentlest way.

“Want something inside you? Or just this?” Billy asks.

It's slow. Lazy, the way Billy is touching Steve. The way Steve responds, shaking and panting, just _letting_ Billy touch and take.

"Want--" Steve's breath catches. "Want you in me."

Steve's probably still slick, Billy thinks. He checks, sliding his fingers under Steve's balls to check, and one finger slides so easily in. Then, the second. It feels nice, with the water.

“How do you want it? Wanna straddle me?” Billy asks. “You'll have to move a little. That okay?”

Steve grunts. "Like this? Can we-- with you holding me?"

“You wanna sit on my lap while I fill you up?”

Billy won't be able to get a ton of leverage to fuck into Steve, but he can at least be buried deep in him. Can jack Steve off while he sits on Billy's dick.

Steve shudders. He's warm, burning up, in Billy's arms.

"I just-- yes. Does that-- I mean, do you want something else?"

“I just want you, baby. Any way I got you.”

It takes a little bit of shuffling, but it's not difficult. Getting his legs under Steve, sitting Steve on his lap. Billy hikes himself up with a hand on Steve's hip and starts pushing in.

“_Fuck_, baby,” Billy breathes out. With the heat of the water, Steve feels _amazing. _

Steve groans. It's a long, low, sweet thing. Ravenous and already fucked out.

Steve's still wet. Still loose. Takes him easy and then spasms tight. Fits to Billy like a goddamn puzzle piece.

Steve clutches at the edges of the tub. His breath catches and stalls, tripping over, fluttering out of him like he's already overwhelmed.

"_Jesus_," Steve hisses. "_Fuckkk."_

Billy barely even moves, just presses himself slowly in. Until Steve is seated fully on him. Until Billy’s dick is covered completely in tight, wet, heat. It’s heavenly. It’s perfection.

Billy folds his arms around Steve more tightly, relishing the feeling of having him so close. Of feeling so intimately connected to him.

Steve quakes in his arms. He sits there, panting, entangled with Billy. Threads his fingers through Billy's own and holds on.

"Feel so good," Steve tells him on a breath, quiet and earnest in a way that speaks to more than just pleasure. "Feel so perfect like this."

Billy doesn’t thrust, but he does rock his hips. Just grinds against him while pulling his fingers over Steve’s cock. It’s gentle, soft. An easy moment in time.

He kisses at the back of Steve’s neck, at the droplets of water lingering there.

“You’re amazing,” Billy says. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

Steve groans, breathy and sweet, arching as Billy moves, as he touches him, as he talks to him. "All yours," he mutters.

It's bliss.

Billy savors it, barely moving, just rutting up against the softness of Steve's ass as he slowly jerks him off in the water. Each sound he pulls out of Steve's throat goes straight to his gut, a white, hot heat.

Steve moves with him. Slow rolls of his hips, stuttering and not quite steady, Steve's breath hitches. His body spasms. His head falls back and his eyes flutter and roll up. The little motions enough to be _too much. _

It's written in every move of Steve's body. In every choked sound he makes.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Billy asks. The sounds of Steve's pleasure are getting Billy there more than anything. It's insane, the way Steve makes him feel. The easy way he gets Billy off.

Steve whines, turning his head, mouthing at Billy's jaw. He can feel the way Steve clenches, the way muscles twitch tight, when Billy drags his hand over his cock. Can feel his thighs trembling, draped over Billy's in the water. Can feel the slick slide of their skin as they rock and rut together.

It's sensual. Slippery. Warm all over. And Steve's already so pliant. So spent. But still with him. Chasing pleasure together.

"Yes," Steve breathes. "Yeah, don't-- don't stop."

Billy doesn't think he could if he wanted to. Steve feels so good, and is making these hot little noises against Billy's throat. More and more with each roll of his hips, with each tug of Steve's cock. He’s close, but he can hold off. Focuses instead on the way Steve’s cock feels in his hand. All the little sounds he’s making.

One of Steve's hands scrambles at the edge of the tub, clutching. He pants against Billy's neck, hips jerking, voice pouring out and then breaking so perfectly as Billy moves his hand just right while grinding in to the deep heat of him.

Billy feels him wind tight. Feels the way muscle strains and pulls under Steve's skin. Tension like wet fingers gliding against the edge of a glass--

And then Steve's sobbing. Coming _dry_. Letting it wreck him and rack through him until he's _trembling_ in Billy's lap.

Billy’s right on his heels, bucking up into Steve as Steve’s body spasms tight around him, milking him dry. It almost hurts, how hard he comes. It has him dropping Steve’s dick after he’s come and wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight.

“So good,” Billy murmurs in his ear. “You’re so good, baby. Perfect.”

Steve lets Billy take the weight of him. Too wrung out or too dazed to worry.

He's still panting as Billy kisses at the shell of his ear. Body twitching through the aftershocks; pleasure like a shockwave rippling up through the both of them.

"You're gonna kill me," Steve mumbles; _whines. _"I'm gonna _die_."

“You won't die,” Billy says, easing himself out of Steve only so that he can bundle Steve closer into his arms. “I won't let you.” He presses a kiss to Steve's temple and lingers there. “You doing okay, though? Sore?”

Steve shifts and little and grunts. "Not yet. Will be, later."

“That's okay. We can take it easy. Order some food in. Take a day. You wanna do that?”

He wants to _spoil_ Steve. To give him anything he's ever wanted.

Steve hums, pressing back into him, nosing under his jaw with a tilt of his head. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds… great. Perfect. Can we do that?"

“Absolutely,” Billy says, threading his hands through Steve's damp hair. “Anything you want, baby. Anything you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for waiting -- here's an extra long chapter! sometimes life just comes at you hard and there's no reprieve.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve doesn't go home immediately. He still has enough clothes to last him for a few more days. Billy maybe went a little overboard in London and bought him -- well, quite a few things. But Steve let him, and Billy wanted to. He couldn't stop himself, really, when Steve looked so good in everything. Still, he spends most of his time lounging around Billy's place in sweats.

He has to go home eventually, though. Or that's what he says, anyway. Billy secretly doesn't think so. There's nothing he wants more than to open up his house to Steve, to clear out half the drawers and just have Steve move in.

But that's maybe too fast. Too much. Billy's trying not to spook Steve by running too fast into it. Even though they already kind of have.

Besides, he’s not completely decided on that being _too fast_, anyway. Would it be so absurd to move in together?

Billy ends up driving Steve back to Steve's apartment at ten at night about a week from when they first came back.

The paparazzi are still bad, still hot on the trail of blood. It's not too terrible, all things considered, Billy thinks -- but Steve's still spooked by it. Still disgruntled and still doesn't like talking about it. So, Billy doesn't talk about it. He just quietly fields messages from his publicist and quietly talks and posts about Steve on his instagram stories. Nothing huge -- just cute little things. Like them making breakfast together, or them reading by the pool. Tame, cute things. Nothing that gives the paps the dirt they’re looking for. Eventually, Billy knows, they’ll get tired. Or they’ll find a better target.

It's been a nice week, all told. It's gotten so easy, just having Steve around. Billy doesn't want to say goodbye, doesn't want to go to sleep tonight without Steve by his side.

Billy keeps a hand on Steve's thigh as he drives. Steve's on his phone, checking messages.

"You okay, baby?" Billy asks, smoothing a thumb over Steve's knee. He's wearing jeans Billy bought him. They're so soft.

"Yeah. Yeah, just--" Steve scoffs out a laugh, thumb dragging over the screen of his phone, eyes darting behind his glasses across the screen. "Just a fuck ton of PMs from my account."

“Shit,” Billy says, huffing out something like a laugh. “Anything interesting?”

"Lots," Steve sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "At least one person wants to watch me fuck you on cam. And there's a couple holy rollers."

Billy snorts at that last thing.

“Yeah, like _that's _gonna work.” He squeezes Steve's knee. “Anything I can do to help?”

Steve shrugs, nose wrinkling up. "Not, uh. Not really? I mean, I'm gonna have to figure something out."

“You know I support you still doing it. If you want to,” Billy says. They haven't really _talked_ about it. Have been avoiding it entirely. But they should. They need to. “It's your life. I'm not going to come in the way of it, you know? I support you doing whatever you want.”

Steve's head lulls over as they cruise down the highway to Burbank. The streetlights cast an orange glare on everything, and somehow Steve's still beautiful. He’s always beautiful.

Billy's so absolutely gone for him.

Steve smiles and lays his hand over Billy's.

"Dunno if I can," Steve says. "Go back to it, I mean. Not with everyone-- well. It's just… everyone knows me, now."

“You sure? Shit, I didn't mean to like...ruin your career.” Billy swallows and gets his eyes back on the road.

"It's… fine," Steve shrugs. "Had to happen someday, I guess."

Billy still feels bad. “Still. I didn't exactly mean for this to explode like this.”

"I know you didn't," Steve says, squeezing at his hand. "And you warned me about the possibility. I'm not mad at you, Billy. Just… not sure what to _do_."

“You have time to think about it,” Billy says, quickly. “I know you don’t like the idea of me paying for shit, but I’m happy to float you for awhile. Could be a loan, if that makes you feel more comfortable. Just -- I want you to know that you don’t have to worry.”

Steve's smile falters a little. But his fingers stay tight over Billy's.

"I, uh… thank you," Steve says. "But I've got enough saved away for a little while longer."

“Still. I don’t want you to have to burn through your savings because of something that had to do with me. I have -- more money than I know what to do with. I’m happy to help. I _want_ to help.”

Billy rubs his thumb over Steve’s fingers. His hands are only half warm.

Steve frowns, glancing down at the tangle of their hands. "Yeah, but-- but you didn't do anything _wrong_. It's not your fault this happened. It just… did. I don't-- I don't want you to feel like you have to try and take care of me."

“So? I want to be able to help.” Billy squeezes Steve’s hand again. “I don’t feel obligated, I just -- _like_ taking care of you. I want to. It -- makes me happy, alright?”

Steve makes a dubious sound, but he's grinning a little, even as his nose scrunches up. "Seriously?"

Billy grunts. “Ugh, so _sue_ me, alright?”

"I don't think I have to," Steve replies with a little laugh. "_Apparently_, taking care of me makes you _happy_."

Billy shoves at Steve’s thigh with his hand. “You’re supposed to be like, nice to me, or something, aren’t you?”

But the best part is that he _loves_ that Steve gives him shit. Loves that Steve won’t just be _nice_ to him like everyone else in his life. It’s perfect, just what he wants. It’s what he _needs_.

Steve laughs, head falling back, and then he reaches over the gearshift to lay his hand high on Billy's thigh. He bats his lashes and everything.

"Want me to be _nice_, killer?"

Billy’s heart kicks in his chest. His cock gives the smallest of twitches in his jeans. Steve’s hand wasn’t all that warm a few moments ago, but now it feels _hot_ on his thigh.

“We’ve only got a couple minutes left of the drive, baby,” Billy says. About ten, maybe. “You wanna be _nice,_ then?”

"You asking me to wait?"

Steve's smile is _evil_. Billy's half certain he's the _devil_.

“I get the feeling that you won’t listen, regardless…” Billy murmurs. Steve’s hand squeezes at the meat of Billy’s thigh. Billy’s breath hitches. He shifts in his seat.

Steve hums, fingers inching further up, dipping between his legs to trail along the inseam of Billy’s pants. They brush against his crotch, the ghost of a sensation-- Billy's nerves lighting up-- and then Steve's pulling his hand back.

"Well, I mean, it wouldn't be _good_ if someone caught a picture of you walking around with a stiffy."

“_You_ are the one giving me a stiffy,” Billy says, breathing out as he pushes the car through a yellow light. His jeans are -- getting uncomfortably tight.

"_Me?" _Steve blinks those big eyes at him in the dim light. "I haven't done anything, killer."

Billy makes a noise in his throat. He reaches down and palms himself, because now he’s already hard. And his jeans are tight. And it feels _good_ to relieve a little bit of the pressure.

“_Fuck_,” Billy breathes out. “You’re not very nice at _all_.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn't reach back out. Just watches Billy grope himself through his pants.

"Never promised I'd be nice _all _the time," Steve says, twisting in his seat, like he's just gonna _watch. _

It's not _fair. _

Billy’s _driving_. He doesn’t need to be distracted. It’s dark and the roads are pretty quiet, but he shouldn’t be so idiotic. But -- it felt _good_. And Steve’s not touching him anymore

But Billy can wait, right? Like. He’s waited for longer than a few minutes before.

It just feels like torture, somehow, with Steve just sitting there _watching_ him.

Steve tilts his head a little as Billy grinds his palm down over himself. Steve lets out a soft sound-- considering, maybe; or wanting-- and then gestures with a little jut of his chin.

"You that hard up for it, sweetheart?" he asks. "You gonna get off like that?"

Billy could. If he wanted to. But it would probably take a little bit of time and concentration. He can step on the gas and get them to Steve’s apartment faster.

But _jesus_ Steve’s tone. It’s kind of unfair that he’s got such a command of it, going from real cute to something decidedly _not_, in such a hot second. It makes Billy’s gut go fiery, makes his cheeks flush a little bit, like he’s fucking _embarrassed_.

“I’m good,” Billy says, moving his hand to his own thigh, fingers spread out over denim. _Look, I’m not touching_.

"You sure?" Steve asks, still teasing, still pressing. "I dunno, killer. You look a little hot under the collar, there."

“Pretty sure that’s _your_ fault, baby.”

"Yeah?" Steve's brow arches, all fucking prim; like a total fucking _brat_. "I mean, I don't _blame you. _I'm awful pretty."

“You _are_,” Billy says. His fingers twitch. He palms himself again, giving into the urge. Shifts in his seat. There’s only, like, five minutes left in the drive. “_Fuck_, Steve.”

Steve's laugh is breathy and warm. He reaches over again, trailing his fingers over the top of Billy's thigh.

"I kind of love watching you rut into your own hand while thinking about me," Steve tells him, pressing his hand over Billy's between his thighs, not adding any pressure, just giving Billy the illusion of it.

A whine catches in Billy’s throat. He wants to close his eyes and tilt his head back, but he keeps his eyes on the road. He grinds his palm down.

“C’mon, Steve, _please_.”

"What, killer?" Steve asks, and there's the _click_ of his seatbelt coming undone before Steve leaning over and pressing his mouth to his ear. "You need _more_ than just your own hand?"

Billy’s breath is ragged when he gasps. Steve’s words are hot in his ear.

His fingers tighten against the wheel, and his hand presses down a little harder.

“Yeah. God. _Yeah_.” He wants more. Needs Steve to actually touch him. Not just keep his fingers over Billy’s.

Steve hums again. Low and delighted. Practically a purr.

He wraps his fingers around Billy's wrist and pulls his hand away. Works at his belt, then his fly, then dips his hand into Billy's jeans to palm him through his underwear.

"Keep your eyes on the road, killer," Steve says.

Billy's gut flips, heat flooding through him at the touch of Steve's hand. It's not nearly enough, but it feels so _good_, so much more than he was giving himself by just rubbing himself through his jeans. Billy swallows down a moan and forces himself not to look down, even though he knows the pretty sight he'd get if he did. But for now he's set: Steve's voice in his ear and his hand in his pants.

“Baby,” Billy breathes out, hips rocking up, shifting, seeking out more. He's so _hard_. It feels so _good_.

Steve's teeth find his ear. Another phantom of a sensation. He squeezes him through soft cotton and strokes, blunt nails dragging, still sharp over the material, against the head of him.

"Love that I can get you worked up like this," Steve tells him. "Love that you want me _so bad_."

Billy groans out. It sounds loud in the relative silence of the car. Sure, there's music playing, but nothing seems like it could cover the embarrassing sounds of Billy totally losing his composure at the barest hints of Steve teasing him.

“I always want you,” Billy says, before his voice falls back into a whine. His hips buck up again. He tries to focus on the road.

"You can have me," Steve tells him-- promises him-- grinding the heel of his palm down. "Wherever. Whenever. Want you to have me."

Billy moans. His hips arch up. He's hot. Sticky. Somehow already close.

“Baby,” Billy warms. “If you keep -- I'm gonna --”

Billy _wants_. So much. So badly.

Steve moans. Shifts, restless, like he wants it bad too.

"When we get back to my place, I'm gonna take you to my room-- where you made all those filthy promises to me while I was streaming-- and I'm gonna get your hands all over me." Steve says, with another squeeze. "I'm gonna get you to fuck me on that bed where everyone used to watch me."

Billy moans. Low and needy. They're coming into the last stretch of the drive, but he doesn't think he can _wait_.

“Let me, please, fuck, Steve, I need it. _Baby_,” he begs, breath catching.

He just -- needs Steve to take the edge off.

Steve slips his hand into Billy's briefs. Gets his fingers around him proper and strokes. Kisses at his ear. Groans.

"C'mon, killer," Steve mutters, breathless. "Come for me."

It's embarrassing, how fast Billy gets there. How quickly he spills himself into Steve's hand.

He chokes back a whine, a moan, a curse, as the pleasure washes over him, fingers tightening against the wheel, white-knuckled. The car jerks a little in their lane. He breathes out heavy and fast.

And pulls into the lot at Steve's apartment.

“Jesus,” Billy murmurs, finally letting his eyes close when he puts the car into park.

Steve's still got his hand down Billy's pants. He kisses at the line of his throat, idle and easy, sticky fingers playing with the head of Billy's spent cock.

Billy jerks, sensitive. His breathing comes out ragged, another whine catching in his throat. His arm goes around Steve, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder.

“_Steve,”_ he hisses out, trying to squirm his way away from Steve's touch.

Steve laughs a little and then withdraws, humming. "Sorry."

He pulls back and slumps in his seat. Brings his hand up to his mouth and _licks. _Sucks at the mess on his fingers.

Jesus. Billy's spent cock twitches in his pants. He watches, hungry.

“Let's go upstairs,” Billy says.

Steve arches a brow. "You inviting yourself up?"

“You _just_ said you were gonna take me upstairs,” Billy says. He rearranges himself, buttons his jeans. Turns off the car.

"True," Steve grins, then gestures with his head. "Pop the trunk. I've gotta grab my things."

“What? Are you the one giving orders here, now?” Billy asks, though he pops the switch to the trunk anyway.

"Pretty sure you came in your pants when I told you to," Steve says, opening his door. "So, yeah. Unless you convince me otherwise."

Billy huffs. Then, rolls his eyes. He can't _argue_, because he does love that bossy, bratty tone Steve gets. Like he knows Billy better than he knows himself.

“Come on, then, _boss_,” Billy says. “Let's get inside.”

Steve huffs but climbs out. He grabs his things from the back, telling Billy they'll need to take the stairs up-- that the elevator has been out since Steve moved in.

The walk up is quick, but takes far too long all at once. Billy's itching, almost aching, to get his hands on Steve. To knock that cocky look off his face.

When they get to his apartment, the lights are off but it's lit up by fairy lights strung up all around the living area and foyer. Little lanterns and white lights guiding the way.

There's a table in the foyer that Steve drops his keys into. A ratty red couch with a half dozen blankets. Pictures on the walls and shelves that line the room.

There's a succulent on the kitchen island.

It's homey. Lived in. It looks like Steve. Billy loves it. Because of course he does.

"Home sweet home," Steve shrugs.

It doesn't take long for Billy to drop the things he'd been carrying for Steve, to crowd in close. To breathe Steve in, hovering just in front of Steve's face, lips barely grazing over Steve's.

“So,” Billy says, a grin finding its way onto his face, “tell me, boss, can I kiss you?”

Steve's hands are still full. He laughs, swaying back a bit, like a _tease_.

"Can't even wait for me to put my things in the bedroom?"

“C’mon,” Billy says, following him forward. Breathing his air. Grinning. “You're the one who riled me up. Just a taste, baby?”

It barely even feels like he took the edge off at all.

"I _dunno_, killer," Steve clicks his tongue, coy, and shuffles back like he's gonna make Billy _chase _him.

Billy's stomach flips a little. He loves a challenge.

“Gonna make me beg you?” Billy asks, stepping forward again. “Because I can beg _real_ pretty for you, to get my dick inside you.”

Steve laughs, walking them back toward his bedroom, only soft white light leading the way, eyes never leaving Billy's. "You _just_ got off."

Billy follows. Helpless to the heavy pull of Steve. Stuck in his orbit.

“Yeah, _and_?” Billy asks. “Pretty sure you promised a _lot_ of things, pretty boy.”

Huffing, Steve kicks back, a door swinging open behind him, just as lit up as the rest of his apartment. Haloing Steve in white light as he presses back into the room, bags dropping at his feet as he shuffles toward the big bed Billy's only seen from one angle.

"_Promised_, huh?" Steve drolls. "Having a tough time remembering all that. What exactly did I _promise_, killer?"

Billy hums. He glances around the room for a hot second before letting his eyes fall back on Steve. He _wants_, so badly. It's unfair how easy Steve just gets him.

“Said I could have you in all the ways we talked about. In your bed.”

"Did I?" Steve's nose scrunches. "You sure that wasn't all in your head?"

Billy advances on him. “Baby,” he says, reaching out to ghost his fingertips down the cotton covered plane of Steve's stomach. “Pretty please?”

Steve shudders. Billy sees it. _Feels it_. Right at the edges of his fingers.

"Said I wanted you to have me, didn't I?" Steve asks, breathless, eyes dark. "So why don't you take me?"

It's easy, to push Steve until he falls backwards onto the bed, easy to follow after him at eat up his surprised noise with a kiss, catching it between his teeth. Steve's hot all over, now, and it makes Billy burn up, too.

“Wanted you for so long,” Billy says. There's something about having Steve here, in his bed, like this. It's a heady, intoxicating rush.

"Me, too." Steve groans. Arches to meet him and tangles his fingers in his hair. He spreads his legs and hitches his thighs up at Billy's waist.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, pushing his hands underneath Steve’s shirt to get at the warm skin there. “You think about having me here? About me pushing you down against your mattress? About all those people, watching me take you apart?”

Billy’s thought about it. He’s thought about it a hundred times, a hundred different ways. His thumb brushes over Steve’s nipple and he eats up the sound it pulls out of Steve’s chest.

Steve shudders. His mouth falls open on a breath and his thighs squeeze at Billy's hips, like he's trying to get him closer.

"Yes," Steve says, like it's a confession, and it probably is, kissing at Billy's jaw between words. "Thought about this. About you. About everyone seeing and _knowing_."

“All I wanted was to be able to say that you were _mine_,” Billy says.

He pauses for a second, just to be able to tug Steve’s shirt over his head, to expose all that skin to Billy’s hands, to his mouth. He leaves a trail of bitemarks down Steve’s torso, from his neck to his nipples to his ribs, as he works his way down, palms spreading out over Steve’s hips.

“I deserve to get you back for that stunt you pulled in the car,” Billy says, biting down over the jut of Steve’s hip bone.

Steve jerks, skin jumping, a satisfying, quaking sound welling up from Steve's throat as he pulls at Billy's hair. "Oh, yeah? How you planning on doing that?"

Billy slinks down Steve’s body a bit more and mouths at the crotch of his jeans. “Hm, you’re right, that’s definitely worth putting some thought into. Make you come enough that you’re begging me to stop -- _ooh_, or not let you come at all? I bet you’ve got a cock ring around here somewhere, don’t you? Could fuck you until you’re boneless, and then ride your cock till you’re crying. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Steve moans, heady and wanting, his body arching and then slumping into his bed like just the _thought_ is enough. That just Billy's words, Billy's voice, can get him there.

In a way, Billy supposes it _is_. That, in this room, before they'd seen and touched and known one another, Steve just had Billy's voice to push him along. To guide him to the height of ecstasy. Billy remembers _watching_ it.

"Jesus, Billy," Steve breathes, tugging at his curls. "Yeah. Yes, that-- there's a dresser. With all my toys and stuff."

Billy leans up, mouths a wet kiss over Steve’s hip once more, and then pushes himself away. Steve’s fingers disentangle from his hair reluctantly. The dresser is in the middle of the room, and when Billy opens the top drawer, he finds it meticulously organized. There’s _tons_ of shit in here, almost all of it stuff that he instantly thirsts to use -- but he’s on a mission right now, and he’s set.

He finds the cock rings easily, and grabs one he likes the looks of, and crosses back over to the bed.

“You’re a pretty fucking picture,” Billy says, standing at the edge of the bed. “You gonna strip for me, baby?”

Steve stares up at him from his own bed, hands lax above his head, skin flush and hair a mess. It's straight out of a fantasy, Steve laid out like this, in his bed.

"You gonna say please?" Steve asks, not moving, just laying there breathing.

Billy breathes a little harder. His blood boils a little hotter. “Shit, baby,” Billy says. It’s a vollying of control, a little bit of a _fight_, and Billy’s so hungry for it, always. He reaches down, trails his fingertips across the warm plane of Steve’s stomach. “Pretty please?”

He loves the way Steve's skin twitches under his fingers. The way the muscles of his abdomen wind tight. Reactive, sensitive, responsive to even the smallest touch.

Steve catches his wrist. Drags his hand up. Kisses his palm. Doesn't look away from Billy for a second.

Then, he's canting his hips up and reaching down to work open his fly. Then, he's pushing his pants and his underwear down his hips, letting his cock spring free, as he toes off his shoes and strips down to nothing. All that bare skin, just for Billy.

“God, you're something else,” Billy says, eyes roaming over all of that exposed skin. He passes over the cock ring. “Put it on for me, baby. Pretty please.”

Steve blows out a breath, sitting up on the bed, back against the pillows. Leaning over, he digs around in his nightstand for a bottle of lube, and wets his lips as he slicks up the ring enough for it to slide on easier.

"You know," Steve mutters, closing his eyes as he takes himself in hand to work the ring onto his shaft, half hard and already filling out more as he slides it down to the base of his cock, breath stalling. "You're supposed to be _soft_ when you put these on. Kinda hard to do with you watching."

Billy just hums. He doesn't stop watching. He can't. Steve is too riveting, too hot.

“Yeah, that doesn't _really_ sound like my problem,” Billy says. Once the ring is on, he reaches down to pull his fingers over Steve's cock, touch light and gentle.

"_Fuck_," Steve sighs, hips giving a little lurch up, flexing to meet his touch.

Billy sheds the rest of his own clothes_. _He can't help but crawl onto the bed, up and over Steve. He can feel the heat radiating off of Steve's skin, fire hot.

He leans down and steals himself a kiss.

Steve cranes up to meet him. Drapes his arms over Billy's shoulders and draws him in, sinking back against the pillows, licking at his lower lip and then past his teeth. Moans, sweetly, against his mouth.

Steve's dick is hard when Billy grinds down against him. It leaks against the firm plane of Billy's stomach.

“Shit, baby, that all for me?” Billy asks. It's easy to reach down, to get his fingers around Steve's cock.

Steve groans, straining for him, fingers digging in at his back. There's already a lovely flush to his cock, hard and hot in Billy's hand.

"You know it is," Steve tells him, panting and rutting up into his touch. "It's all for you, Billy."

Billy can't wait to get his mouth on Steve -- so he doesn't wait. He pushes himself down, kissing along the taut lines of Steve's belly. Then, Billy's breathing over Steve's dick, until he takes it in hand and licks over the head of it. Then -- he takes the whole, hard length of it into his mouth.

Steve _gasps. _Not a sweet, soft little hitch-- a full kick of breath, like Billy's shocked him. Like the heat of Billy's mouth is just that overwhelming.

"Oh, _shit_," Steve hisses, slapping at the sheets with one hand and reaching up with the other, clutching at the headboard. "_Billy_\--"

Billy bobs his head and sucks Steve down, tonguing over every inch of him, lapping up the taste of him.

After a moment, he pulls back, all grins as Steve's dick drips with spit.

“Aw, you that sensitive, pretty boy? Or is it just not enough for you?”

Steve gets him with the heel of his right foot. Digs it into Billy's side.

"Dick," Steve accuses, breathless.

Billy laughs, squirming away from the kick of Steve's heel.

“Don't be mean to the guy who's blowing you, baby,” Billy says.

A bubble of a laugh bursts out of Steve's mouth. "I'd agree with you if I could actually come while you were blowing me."

“You sure you can't?” Billy asks, hovering his lips over the head of Steve's dick. Licking it teasingly. “I mean, we could _try_…”

Steve's cock twitches in his hand. He moans, fingers curling tight in the sheets and around the metal frame of the headboard.

"Thought you were gonna make me _wait_," Steve says, but he doesn't sound _against_ the idea of Billy taking the time to get him off like this.

“Oh, I am. And I don't think you _can_ come, but I think it would be fun to try. To hear how pretty you get when you want it that badly.”

He sucks down Steve's cock in one go then, swallowing him down, eating up all of Steve's little noises as he does. Steve spasms under him. He grunts, cock giving a weighty pulse against Billy's tongue.

His hands find Billy, then. Clutching at his shoulder and at his hair. Pulling as he whines while Billy bobs his head.

After a little while, Billy pulls back. Licks his lips.

“What do you say to my fingers in you, baby?”

Steve's already nodding, his throat working, lower lip red from where he's bitten at it, trying to choke back sounds. "Want it. Want you in me."

Billy answers him with a kiss to his hips. Wet and sloppy. Steve’s lube is easy to find. He’s got way too much of it in his bedside table. Clearly he’s got a favorite brand, but there’s a variety of it anyway. Flavored and unflavored, water-based and not -- even some that looks like actual come.

Billy can’t resist the allure of that last one. He grabs it, drizzles some over his fingers, and slaps at Steve’s inner-thigh with his clean hand.

“Spread ‘em wide for me, baby.”

Steve jerks a little, nose scrunching up, but his pupils are dark and wide. "Say _please_," Steve says, snotty and prim, like his dick wasn't just down Billy's throat; _playing_ and _teasing_ like he doesn't want it just as bad. "I'm not an animal."

Billy hums. He smears his fingers together, then bends down and presses his lips to Steve’s inner thigh. Then, looks up at him like, “Pretty please?”

Because Billy’s _not_ above begging for it.

“Please,” he says again, punctuated with another press of his lips, just to drag home the point.

Steve stares down at him, swallowing. His fingers card through Billy's curls. Gives a little pull.

"You're like a wet dream," Steve breathes, cheeks going a little pink, like maybe he didn't mean to say it out loud-- but then he's spreading his legs, knees drawing up, flush and worrying at his lower lip like a virgin on prom night.

Billy smiles, warmth flooding through his veins. He gives in to Steve so easily because there's no other choice, because he's helpless to Steve's pleas.

He doesn't wait any longer, just presses two slick fingers inside Steve, steadying him with a hand on his hip.

Steve groans, head falling back and mouth falling open, but he takes it so easy. Takes it so _well. _Reaches up and clutches at the headboard as Billy works his fingers into him with steady, punctuated thrusts, cock twitching as he breathes out slow and steady. Steve's still tight, but loose enough, body _ready_ enough that Billy can just _do_ this. Can just press inside with two fingers and have it be easy -- or easy enough, anyway.

Billy watches, attention rapt, as he works Steve open. Watches for all his little twitches, the way Steve's body responds so well to him.

Steve rocks with the motion, hips moving a bit to meet him. "God-- Billy, more."

“Easy, baby,” Billy says, leaning down to mouth at the jut of Steve's hip bone.

But he doesn't wait. He slides his fingers out, drizzles more lube over them, and then presses three fingers into Steve's heat.

He spasms and his cock twitches again. Tightens up, so perfect, and Billy thinks he would be leaking precome if it weren't for the ring keeping him hard and flush.

"_Fuck," _Steve gasps, eyelids going heavy, back arching up.

Billy works him open with his fingers, playing Steve like an instrument. Until he is warm and loose around Billy's fingers, until Steve is panting loudly and arching back up and off the sheets.

“Shh, baby, I've got you.” Billy curls his fingers until he feels Steve cry out, until his stomach muscles are clenching. “You want something more? Is this not enough?”

Steve lets out a delirious laugh, shuddering and shaking as Billy presses deep and keeps Steve spread like that. He's gasping, now, a lovely sheen of sweat on his skin, and he groans as Billy pointedly grinds his fingers that much deeper.

"You're evil," Steve pants, toes curling, head shaking like he's trying to clear it. "Absolutely evil."

It's delightful, having Steve spread out like this. Looking so pretty and ripe for the taking.

“I know,” Billy says. He runs his fingers over Steve's cock. It's so hard, now, so hot underneath his touch. “But you don't hate it, do you?”

Steve _whines, _hips jerking upward toward his touch. "No," he breathes. "No, I don't hate it."

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Then you can take a bit more, can't you?”

It's not a question. He works his fingers in deeper, spreading Steve even wider. Until his muscles are soft, until he's loose and open.

The sound Steve makes is a thrill. Some wonderful cross between a moan and a sob. His hands go for Billy, fingers fumbling into his hair and clutching at his shoulder. He spasms around Billy's fingers and strains as Billy curls them deep, working over sensitive nerves until each of Steve's breaths comes tinged with a mewling whimper.

The sight of him is something out of Billy's fantasies. Sprawled out on this bed, giving himself to Billy's tender mercies and terrible desires. Cock hard and hot, hole stretched around Billy’s fingers and slicked with opaque lube-- like Billy's already fucked him and is fucking his own come into him with his fingers.

It's like a fantasy -- but better than any he's ever had. He wants it to last forever.

But Billy's greedy and only human. He can't tease Steve for too much longer.

He eases his fingers free, pulls his lube slick fingers over the heat of Steve's dick, and lines himself up.

“Tell me you need it,” Billy says, pushing the head head of his cock against Steves hole. Not even pushing in. Just teasing. Both Steve and himself.

Steve's throat works; his fingers dig in at his shoulder. He's flush, his eyes dark, and he stares up at Billy like he's _everything. _"I need it. Need you in me, killer, please."

Billy shivers, heat flooding straight to his gut.

“You beg so _pretty_, baby,” Billy says, easing forward just a little bit. Just enough to slide the tip of dick into Steve's hot warmth. It feels so _good_.

Steve moans, knees hitching up to cling at Billy's waist. A hand gropes at Billy's back, the other pulling insistently at his hair.

"Please," Steve breathes, thighs trembling. "Please, Billy, _please_."

Billy gives him what he needs, what they _both_ need, and slides in. Slow, but unyielding. He can't bear to tease Steve any more, especially not with the way his own cock is aching. With the way need is already fever-hot underneath his skin.

“I've got you,” Billy says, as he slides home, filling Steve up to the brim.

He catches Steve's lips in a kiss, already panting for how good it is. For how tight and perfect Steve feels around him.

Steve groans against his mouth. His spine curves up, a divine little arch, and his thighs pull taut at Billy's hips as they slide together. Meeting in the middle, Billy buried deep in him, like they belong like that, always.

Steve's fingers dig in at his shoulders, a whine passing from his tongue to Billy's. Billy feels him buck and then spasm all over, toes curling like he might come just from having Billy in him, but he _can't. _

Billy wants to think it's the hottest thing Steve's ever done -- but _everything_ Steve does is the hottest ever. It's like clutching at air, trying to pick a favorite.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, breaking away from the kiss to bury his face at Steve's neck as he fucks into him. Panting, groaning. A mess. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

Steve groans his reply, cradling the back of his head and giving a stilted rock of his hips. "Perfect. You feel so-- _god, _Billy."

It feels so perfect, having Steve like this. Pressing him down against a bed that Billy's only ever been able to in his dreams, in his fantasies. He never thought he'd have this, never thought he'd have Steve -- and he never thought he'd feel like this, so torn up and raw and desperate about it. His whole chest feels open, exposed. Made only worse -- and _better_ \-- with every thrust.

“Baby, you're so --” Billy says, pressing a hot kiss right below Steve's ear. “God, I -- _fuck_.”

Steve moves perfectly in tandem with him. Meets the steady, slick rock of his hips. Pants heavy in his ear, sound catching in his throat.

When a soft whine breaks into a sob, Billy pulls back just enough to see the ecstasy on Steve's face. To see the tears in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. To see the way his pupils have all but consumed the dark brown of his irises.

"I-- I can't--" Steve strains a little and Billy feels nails drag down his back as another sob breaks free from Steve's throat, his cock hard and red and twitching between them. He's _shaking. _"I wanna-- please, Billy, I _need _to--"

And _oh_, Billy thinks, enraptured as his heart pounds. Steve _did _almost come just from Billy sliding into him, and now he's here, hanging on that edge of _too much _with no release_. _

He should. Let Steve come, that is.

But watching Steve like this, strung out and on a knife's edge? It's better than any drug.

“You can keep going for me, can't you, baby?” Billy asks. He slows down a little, just to hear a tortured whine escape from the back of Steve's throat. “You can wait, can't you?”

He snaps his hips in hard, grinding in, filling Steve to the brim. He wants to come, too -- but this? Steve scrabbling at his back and whining? Worth it.

Steve cries out, head falling back, mouth falling open like that might help him catch his breath or ground him. It's lovely. _Steve _is lovely.

So gorgeous and hot and wet for him. Hard and _dying _to come. Taking everything that Billy's giving him so fucking _well. _

He shakes his head a little, blatantly over simulated, whining out his words. "It's too-- _you're too-- _Billy, _please." _

It's a heady rush, knowing Steve would be coming around Billy's dick right now. He can't help but reach down, after licking a wet stripe over his own palm, and give Steve's dick a few teasing strokes.

“It's not too much for you, is it?” Billy asks with a grin.

Steve, spread out like this, is definitely too much for Billy. Good thing he's always been one for over-indulging.

Steve's hips jerk up. Bucking sharp and sobbing out. He pulls tight, face twisting up.

His lashes are wet, sticking together as he blinks the tears away. His nails, blunt as they are, drag down Billy's back, leaving red lines raking down the flex of muscle.

And _god, _it feels like Steve _is _coming on his cock. Billy can feel the way his body spasms and milks at Billy’s dick -- so tight and perfect and _continuous. _A steady, unending crest of pleasure.

Steve grunts out another helpless plea, scrambling to keep from turning into a total mess. "_Pleasepleasebillyplease."_

Billy wants to give in. Desperately.

But a part of him wonders how long he could keep Steve like this. Squirming on Billy's cock, whining Billy's name into the familiar space of his bedroom

He slows his thrusts down, trying to pull himself back from how close he is. He could come now, just from looking at Steve's face, but it's such a pretty sight that he wants to take it in for longer. For forever.

He thumbs over the head of Steve's cock and presses a quick kiss to Steve's open mouth.

“You're doing so _good_ for me, though, baby,” Billy says. “Not even a little bit longer?”

Steve moans into his mouth, kissing back mindlessly, like all there is to him is Billy. He's _trembling. _

"_Billy," _it's rough this time; deeper and more used; certainly more desperate. "You're gonna-- god, I'm gonna _break_\--"

But the slower rock of Billy's hips seems to help. Seems to bring him down, just a little, from that painful high. Gives him a little lucidity back in the glaze of his eyes.

"You're gonna kill me," Steve breathes against his lips, taking his face between his hands to kiss him long and deep.

Billy smiles into the kiss, chest heating up with the fiery warmth of it.

“Not gonna kill you,” Billy promises. He sucks at Steve's lower lip. “Just wanna keep you like this forever. Want you to feel so good, all the time.”

He wants to be the one to give Steve that, always.

Steve groans, clinging at his shoulders. His eyes roll back for a second when Billy grinds in.

A delirious, delicious little laugh bubbles up from Steve's mouth-- melting into another rapturous sound.

"Want you in me, all the time," Steve confesses, breathless and flush. "Always want you, wanna feel good with you. Wanna make you feel good."

“You always make me feel good,” Billy says, panting against Steve's lips. He laps up Steve's words, his sounds, his breathless confessions. “Always,” he says.

He drives in all the way, until he's flush against Steve, filling him up all the way. Steve groans again and _quivers. _Stares up at Billy with wide eyes and shaking hands. Tightens up all over again, just like before, like he's going through the act of orgasming without any of the relief of it.

Steve keens, clawing at his back.

Billy fucks him through that, slow and steady, until Steve quiets down again, until he's gasping, wet and needy, against Billy's neck.

Then, he spits in his hand and gets his fingers around Steve's dick. He's _so_ hard. It must hurt. The feeling of him in Billy's hand is enough to have pleasure rolling in Billy's gut.

“God, you're so hot, baby,” Billy tells him, stroking him slow. “You feel so good, so perfect for me.”

Steve's breath goes reedy and high. Threaded with little whines and keens as his hips stutter, sensation everywhere and all too much.

"Billy, I can't. I can't, _please, _I _can't--_" Steve's shaking his head, tears sliding down the sides of his face as Billy strokes over him, his cock weeping a little and twitching in his hand.

It’s too much.

Billy feels the curl of pleasure on his gut, the desire radiating out at the look of Steve’s tear-stained face, at the sound of him begging Billy so prettily.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” Billy says -- he _promises_.

His hips snap in, pace quickening. Unable to stop himself from _taking_. He feels like he _needs_ it, needs to fill Steve up and to the brim. Needs to leave Steve dripping with him, needy and whining.

But he doesn’t take Steve’s cock ring off. He’s not _done_ with him yet. Instead, he just jerks Steve with the pace of his thrusts. Faster, and then faster, still.

And _god, _the way Steve _breaks _is so utterly _breathtaking. _

His breath catches and catches and then stops all together. His toes curl and his spine curves up, head craning back, his mouth open in a silent, choked sound of raw desperation. Unbridled bliss. His eyes roll back and his arms lock, body straining so wonderfully under him, almost like he's trying to get away-- and he probably _is_, in a way-- every inch and line of his body screaming out the sweet, terrible pleasure building between them.

But the thing that tips Billy over is the way his hips _jerk. _The way Steve bucks and goes so wonderfully, impossibly _tight _around him, working Billy’s cock as he drives in, so hot and dripping with slick. The way the burning, hard length of Steve's arousal kicks in his hand. The way he can feel Steve's body working through an orgasm that won't _end. _

Billy’s gone. The pleasure rocks him so hard, hard enough that his vision whites out, and any sounds get caught like glass in his throat. It feels so goddamn good that it _hurts_.

He bites down on the hollow of Steve’s throat as he pumps the last of his release into the warm tightness of Steve’s constricting muscles.

He collapses into him then, holding Steve close and panting against his neck. He's dizzy, blissed out with the high of his own release, and Steve's _sobbing. _Clutching at Billy's back with both hands, body jerking a little with the wet, stilted breaths, he's crying and still spasming so _wondrously_, almost painfully, around Billy as his own precipice refuses to let him come down.

It’s so goddamn hot. It’s endearing as hell, too.

Billy wants to keep him like that for forever.

His hips jerk a couple more times before he’s pulling out. He reaches down between them with his fingers, catching the drips of his own come before they can hit the bed. Then, slowly, carefully, he pushes it back into Steve. It’s still warm. Steve is so _loose_. So wet.

“Shit,” Billy breathes out, just looking at the mess Steve is underneath him. “God, wanna keep you full of me.” He swallows, pushing three fingers in, easy. Steve’s so slick with Billy’s come, so _wet_. “Where are your plugs?”

Steve's still shivering. Still dazed and twitching around him, mewling as Billy pumps his fingers a couple times.

He doesn't seem to hear him, for a second. Not until Billy kisses the salt from one of his cheeks, a soft _baby_ whispered under his breath as Steve starts to settle back into his own skin again.

"There's--" Steve voice cracks, totally _ruined, _and he flaps a hand toward the bedside table. "Second drawer. There's, um. You can pick."

It’s perfect. Billy doesn’t even have to take his fingers out of Steve to reach in to the table with his other hand and pull out a plug. He doesn’t _care_ which one. Just wants something to fill Steve up. To keep Billy’s come inside of him. The one he grabs happens to be silicone and pink. Just about the girth of Billy’s dick, maybe a little smaller.

It slides _so_ easily into Steve, after Billy slides his fingers free.

He knows what he wants to do with Steve, knows how he wants Steve to come, but he needs -- he needs a little time to make that happen.

So, he slinks himself down between Steve’s legs and gets his mouth around Steve’s cock. It’s hard as a rock, red and painful looking. Billy barely even sucks him. Just gives Steve’s dick a warm, wet place to be. Steve's fingers are instantly in his hair and digging in at his shoulder. His legs kick a little, a grunt that sounds like he's pained making its way up through his chest.

"Fuckfuck_fuck," _Steve pants, thighs trembling like he's trying to close his legs.

Billy tongues at him, laps lazily at his hardness. But there’s no rush. He can take his time. He’s _gotta_ take his time, if he wants to come again. Not that he _has_ to, but, like -- why _wouldn’t_ he want to come again?

Steve’s fingertips dig in _hard_. Billy laughs around his dick. Runs his fingers, gentle, over the soft insides of Steve’s thighs.

He keeps it up like that for a while, not sucking Steve, off, just keeping him warm. Keeping him squirming, too.

By the time Steve settles, it's with hushed whines and little pulls at Billy’s hair. He's limp on the bed, worn out, an occasional shudder rippling up through him. Totally and completely pliant.

It's heady. Like a drug.

When Billy finally pulls off, knuckles pressing lightly to the flared base of the plug, Steve hisses and rocks with the motion, but doesn't fight it. His eyes are dazed, pupils blown and lashes still wet. Like he's coasting, leveled out on the sweetest high he can get without drugs.

"Billy," he breathes, giving another little tug at his hair, his name falling from Steve's mouth like a plea, a benediction.

“I’m gonna ride you, baby,” Billy says. “Do you want that?”

Steve moans, body shivering as Billy kisses at his hip. "Yes. Whatever you want."

Billy crawls up his body to lick into Steve’s mouth while he fingers himself open. He can feel the beginnings of arousal starting to inch into his gut, his dick already starting to chub up again. Mostly, he can blame that entirely on Steve. No one’s ever got him quite like this before. No one’s ever made Billy want to tear them apart quite like Steve.

“Want you to come inside me,” Billy says, stuffing two fingers into himself, so slick with lube.

Steve huffs another whine against his mouth. His fingers curl tight as he drags Billy closer, tongue lazy against his own.

Every move Steve makes seems drawn out. Slow. Little tremors and shakes still thrumming up through him, even as he slides a hand up Billy's thigh and then around to tease at his slick rim with the tips of his fingers as Billy works himself open.

"Please," Steve mutters at his lips, kisses sloppy and unrefined, reduced to a pliant, boneless _mess, _all just for Billy. "Please, I wanna come in you. Please, Billy."

His hips give a weak little lurch up. He's so _gone. _Billy thinks, almost hysterically, that Steve would let him do _anything _right now.

It’s a heady thought.

It has him pushing three fingers in, easy. It helps, having Steve’s fingers pushing at him, too. The idea of being stuffed so full of Steve is addictive, dizzying.

Once he’s loose and open, he resituates himself and throws a leg over Steve’s hips, straddling him. Lining himself up.

He doesn’t take Steve’s cock ring off, yet.

“Say pretty please, and I’ll let you fuck me,” Billy says, thumbing one of Steve’s nipples.

Steve arches into his touch and then jerks back down, body shuddering, fingers digging in at Billy's thighs. He doesn't even _hesitate. _

"Pretty please," he says, eyes not leaving Billy's face, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. "Please, Billy, _please." _

Billy could tease him, more.

But.

He wants Steve to fill him up. He’s greedy for it.

So he gives in and lines Steve’s aching cock up, balancing his weight on the center of Steve’s chest. Slowly, he sinks down on it, shivering as Steve’s cock stretches him, unyielding. Hot. _Perfect_.

Steve's groaning under him. Clawing at his hips and buckling helplessly, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Oh, fuck," Steve gasps. "Oh_fuckfuck, Billy--"_

It's got to be a _lot. _Being stuffed full and having Billy sliding down on him. Like Billy's fucking him and _being _fucked by him.

Steve's chest heaves as he _trembles_, rutting up _blindly. _Already on the brink again, as if he never even came down-- which is probably _true. _

“Shit,” Billy breathes out. “Can you still feel my come inside you?” His pulls a palm over the sweat-slick pane of Steve’s torso, thumbing over his ribs, feeling Steve breathe underneath his touch. “God, you feel so fucking _good_.”

It’s not long before Steve’s bottoming out inside him. Billy doesn’t have the self control to savor it -- instead, he slides back up, and starts fucking himself on Steve’s dick.

Steve nods his head with a jerk as a low sob wracks through him. His eyes are already tearing up, hips flexing up to meet Billy, hands clumsily tugging at his hips.

"God, Billy, I--" his voice breaks, chin wobbling, flush high on his cheeks. "Feel you_ everywhere_\-- feel so-- feel so _fucking--" _

As Billy moves, Steve's head strains back. It's a rush, having Steve in him and still having control over every _inch _of him. That Steve's _letting _him do this.

"Love it," Steve gasps out around another sob, tears sliding down the sides of his face. "Love being in you. Love-- ah, _fuck, love feeling you in me. _Love it, love you, _please--"_

In all the babble, Billy doesn't think Steve _realizes _what he's said. His hips falter, body tightening up, and it just wrenches another cry from Steve's mouth.

"_Love you, pleaseplease, Billy--"_

It's a rush, all of it. Warm and electric and terrifying and exhilarating.

It takes Billy a second to gather himself, to stop just staring down st Steve in awe, before he's sliding himself off Steve's dick to remove the cock ring with shaky hands. Billy's distracted, a little lost with it, but so, _so_ beautifully overwhelmed -- just like Steve.

Billy sinks back down on Steve, giving Steve the tightness and wet heat that he needs. He leans forward while fucking himself and gets Steve's head in his hands, so enamored, so in _awe_. Billy catches him in a kiss, wet and messy, licking into Steve's mouth like _Billy's _the one who's been strung out for hours. He feels like it, anyway.

Steve groans against his mouth and bucks up. His hands claw at Billy's hips, grip bruising. He whines, high in the back of his throat, and his hips jerk up again. Then, again. Angled just right and so perfect--

And then Steve is arching, sobbing, and Billy feels the rush of heat inside of him as Steve comes apart.

That’s all it takes for Billy to follow right on his heels. Just knowing he’s given Steve this, just being able to see, touch, hear the way Steve’s losing himself in the pleasure. He sounds so enraptured, so beautifully in bliss. It’s the hottest thing Billy thinks he’s ever been a part of. He rides Steve through it, spilling out his own orgasm onto Steve’s stomach, panting praise and adoration into Steve’s mouth.

He’s not even totally done by the time he gets his arms around Steve and pulls him close. He comes down like that, panting against Steve’s neck, peppering him with lazy, messy kisses.

“So good, baby,” Billy tells him. “You did so fucking good. God, you’re perfect.”

Steve pants, trembling under him and in his arms, hands clumsy as they ease up Billy’s back to hold him closer. He's warm, pliant, and it feels good to be pressed so close, sharing the same rushing heartbeat, even with the sensation of slick and sweat and come cooling on their skin.

“You okay, baby?” Billy asks, pressing a long kiss to the hollow of Steve’s throat. His skin tastes like salt, like sweat.

He gets a hand in Steve’s hair, smoothing through it, just touching. Like somehow, he didn’t just touch Steve enough.

Steve grunts. He blinks dazed eyes up at him when Billy pulls back enough to peer down at his flushed face.

Steve leans blindly up into his touch. His lashes are still wet.

"Gotta stop wrecking me," he mumbles after a few more moments of Billy petting through his hair.

Billy huffs out a laugh. He presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips. “You okay, though? You need anything?”

"M'kay," Steve nods, turning his face to nudge at Billy's nose with his own. "You?"

Billy smiles. He kisses Steve again. Just a peck -- and a lazy one at that. “‘Course I’m good. I’m perfect.”

Steve hums, eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah. Yeah, you are."

“Not quite as perfect as you, pretty boy,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He shifts himself, letting Steve slide out of him slowly. He feels the wet drizzle of come in the wake of the movement, and he can’t help but shiver at the thought of it.

“You good if I clean up quick and grab you some water?” he asks, brushing some hair out of Steve’s face.

Steve hums again, head tilting upward into his fingers. "That sounds good. As long as you come back."

Billy smiles. “Like I'd go anywhere without you.”

He pries himself away and goes through the motions of cleaning himself off in the bathroom real quick. A hot shower, a brush of his teeth. He grabs a couple warm, wet washcloths, and then ducks into the kitchen to grab a glass of water for Steve. He pads back into the room and begins cleaning Steve off, sliding the washcloths over smooth skin to clean away sweat, come, and tears.

“Drink some,” Billy tells him, pushing the water into Steve's hand. “You need it.”

Still props himself up onto a shaky arm and takes the glass with a soft smile, hair flopping into his face. "Thanks."

He sips at it slowly as Billy finishes cleaning him up. His eyes are less dazed now. More focused. His cheeks are still pink.

When the glass is half empty, he sets it on the table next to the bed. Fumbling for another drawer, he opens it and tugs out a fluffy looking towel to lay over the mess they made of the sheets. Once it's laid down, he opens up his arms.

"C'mere," he mumbles, but it almost sounds like a question.

Billy tosses the washcloths to the floor, deeming them a Later Problem, and then slides into the spot Steve offers up. As if Billy would ever say _no_.

“Feeling more real?” Billy asks, slotting one of his legs in between Steve’s and an arm around him, too.

Steve shivers, tucking up close, nosing up under Billy's jaw. "A bit. Always feel more real around you."

Billy feels warmth bubble up inside him. He pulls Steve closer, like he just can’t hold him tight enough.

“Me too, pretty boy. Me too.”

Billy can feel Steve smile against his throat. Feels his arms wind tighter around him. Feels the contented breath he lets out as they settle, easily and perfectly, together.

***

Billy hadn't exactly meant to stay the night at Steve's. He thinks that he probably was supposed to drop Steve off, give him space after their week long get away and then their days of hiding in his own house, but he can't say he's complaining about waking with Steve in his arms, a little before the sun has even come up.

It should be terrifying-- in a way, it _is _terrifying-- just how easily Steve has slipped into the cracks of his life. Settled there, a constant source of warmth, like he'd always been there.

He thinks about the way Steve looked at him last night -- really only a handful of hours before -- teary eyed and strung out and willing to give Billy anything as he babbled mindlessly that he _loved it. _That he _loved Billy. _

He thinks maybe they should talk about that.

It feels like it's too fast. Like they're moving so quickly. But then Billy thinks of the months they spent knowing one another without _knowing _one another. All the late night conversations and inane texts and beautiful moments of mutual _want _in between.

He thinks about Steve wanting him and not knowing who he was and being afraid-- but wanting him _anyways. _

Steve grumbles a little, shifting against him, skin warm and hair a mess. Billy just holds him a little tighter and realizes that he _doesn't ever want to let go. _

Then, Steve huffs out a soft whine, brow creasing, and he shifts again-- legs restless and hips rolling-- and groggily, barely awake, Billy remembers coming inside of him and then pressing a toy into Steve to keep him full. And never taking it _out_.

Billy kisses him on the hairline, gentle and soft. He should remove the plug. Should wake Steve up and ease it out of him, nice and slow.

But Billy wonders, maybe, if he _didn’t_ wake Steve up, would Steve keep shifting against him, squirming until he found what he was looking for? Would he wake up as he was coming against Billy’s hip?

When Steve moves again, just as restless as before, Billy can feel that he's already half hard against Billy’s hip.

It must be torture, he thinks, to be kept like that. To feel that constant stretch and ache. That fullness. He's gotta be so wet and loose still-- _from _Billy; _for _Billy.

There's a fine little tremor that Billy feels ripple up Steve's abdomen as he presses in flush. Fingers grip sleepily, clumsily at him. Steve's mouth parts at his collar, breath hot and a little short against his skin. He whines again, so soft it's barely there at all, and rubs himself against Billy's hip, eyes still closed.

And sure, Steve could be awake. But he’s normally a bit more vocal about what he wants when he’s awake. Never afraid to ask for what he wants.

And Billy could wake him up -- maybe he should -- but there’s something kind of base about the idea of Steve grinding himself off against Billy.

So, all Billy does is get a hand on the small of Steve’s back, and maybe encourages the movement a little, feeling a little warm, his own dick starting to fill up with his arousal. Steve groans quietly, his motion becoming a little more steady. A little more fluid. He ruts in slow rolling rocks of his hips, fingers curling and uncurling against the ladder of Billy's ribs.

Billy guides him through it, until Steve’s breaths are coming a little faster, until he can feel Steve leaking against his hip. Billy shifts slightly, giving Steve better access to his hip -- but also so that he can reach down and get a hand around his own dick to start jacking himself to the rhythm of Steve’s thrusts.

It's obscene, in a way, the idea of getting off like this. To Steve riding against him in his sleep. But everything with Steve seems a bit obscene. Lascivious.

Billy can't help but think of the time Steve rutted against a pillow and came with nothing but Billy’s _voice. _

It has his own breath catching as Steve's hips give a little stutter. As he bucks and whines again, blunt nails digging in at his sides, skin so warm and flush with a tired, unconscious arousal. He wonders if Steve is dreaming-- and, if he is, what he's dreaming about. It’s a little self-indulgent to imagine Steve dreaming about Billy -- but is that so absurd to think about? Too egotistical? Billy _did_ spent the better part of two hours yesterday giving Steve what has to have been one of the best orgasms of his life.

“That’s it,” Billy says, voice barely even a whisper. “Come on, baby, just take what you need.”

Steve's breath catches. His eyes flutter, shifting rapidly behind his eyelids as he pants and moves against him. He moans, bucking and then bucking again, and Billy can feel his thighs tremble and his toes curling behind one of his calves. Close and chasing his own end with sleepy, stilted little movements.

It's glorious. Intimate. Billy could spend the rest of his life watching all the different ways Steve unravels.

Billy feels like Steve’s getting close -- which is ideal, because Billy feels close too. It sometimes doesn’t take much, especially when he’s faced with something as hot as Steve, like this, strung out and easy. Billy knows it won’t take much to push himself over the edge. But he holds off, just on the edge of it, wanting to watch Steve shatter, first. It’ll be better, then, he knows -- getting to watch Steve break apart.

Steve shudders in his arms. His hips stutter. He gasps out-- and as the first splashes of his completion hit Billy's skin, cock pulsing at Billy's hip, Steve moans out a blissed sound and opens his eyes, dark and beautifully dazed, high on the release as he rocks through it, even as his brow pinches in something like confusion.

Billy follows right on his heels, working himself until he’s spilling out into his own fist, Steve’s hips still jerking as the last of Billy’s pleasure rolls through him. He grunts with it, breathing out a moan as he works his cock until its spent, oversensitive. Then, he presses his lips to Steve’s sweaty forehead.

“Morning, baby.” Billy grins.

Steve's still a little out of breath, still clutching him close, still utterly bemused. "Morning. Did I just-- did _we _just…?"

His voice is rough with sleep. Warm and a little lower than usual. It’s so fucking _cute_.

There’s the answer to his question of: _is Steve awake?_

Billy gives him another kiss, pulls back, and brushes the hair out of Steve’s eyes. “We did. I think we should get that plug out of you -- didn’t mean to leave it in that long. What do you say?”

Steve shudders, breath hitching a little as his throat works. "Yeah, um. Yes."

His face seems a little more pink. He shifts carefully, slowly, like he'd forgotten the weight of it in him-- even though the evidence to the contrary is starting to cool on Billy's skin.

Billy reaches down and touches over the rim of the plug, so gentle Steve won’t even be able to feel it. Then, he begins easing it free. Slow, as to not hurt, but steady, as to not prolong the process of it now that Steve’ll be over-sensitive.

Steve buries his face against Billy's throat, hiding a low groan there. His body clings, almost fighting Billy's coaxing fingers, almost as if he doesn't want to be left empty.

But with steady pressure, the toy slides free, until just the tip is in him.

Billy shushes him, coos at him, tells him how _good_ he is. When he eases the toy completely free, he pulls Steve tight, holding him close to his body.

“We gotta get you cleaned up,” Billy says. “Or you'll feel real gross later. We also gotta get you some food. Any good breakfast places around here?”

Steve grunts, huffing softly against his pulse. "There's a diner around the corner than makes pancakes bigger than your head."

He's trembling a little. Billy can imagine why. When his fingers slip down to touch his sensitive rim, he can feel himself leaking out of Steve. It's so warm and slick, and it coats his fingertips when he pulls away.

Steve's fingers dig in at his ribs, throat working around another sound. "Shower?"

“You gonna complain if I carry you there?” Billy asks. He's not sure how great Steve would do with _standing_ right now. “To the shower. Maybe to the diner, too, if you let me.”

Steve laughs as he pulls back. "If you think you _can_."

Billy huffs out a laugh. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

He gets Steve into the shower, under the warm, running water, and cleans him off with careful hands. He peppers kisses into Steve's hairline and whispers nonsense in his ears as he works him over with a soft, soapy washcloth. It smells like lavender, like sandalwood. Billy breathes it all in and washes himself with Steve's soap, too -- wanting the smell to linger for as long as possible.

Billy borrows sweatpants when they're done and dry, because he doesn't have clothes here, because he had never planned on spending the night. He ends up stealing a soft, green shirt, and even a pair of socks.

“You good to be seen with me in public?” Billy asks, because he knows it has to be said. There's little chance of anyone seeing them or even recognizing them at the diner, all the way out here, but slim odds are still non-zero.

Steve smiles at him from under a fluffy towel, head bobbing as he nods.

He looks good. A little flush from the heat of the shower. A little slow as he moves. But he's got a pair a big black sweats on and a worn shirt with some label Billy doesn't recognize in a rainbow across the front.

"You good with being seen with _me?" _Steve asks. "Like _this?" _

“Uh, you look hot as shit?” Billy says. He gestured at himself. And then at his face. His hairs not done, he's got some circles under his eyes, and he's got a few days worth of stubble. He hasn't been out of the house like this in _years_. “You fine with _this_ disaster?”

As disheveled as Billy feels, he feels the most content he thinks he's ever _been_. And it's all Steve. He's warm -- from the inside, out.

"You look like you've been fucking someone all night," Steve replies, droll, eyes bright as he hangs up his towel by the closet door, hair still damp. "Specifically me. You're not a disaster. You're temptation at its best."

Billy rolls his eyes. “Your fault I'm sleep deprived. I need my beauty sleep, baby.” He goes on his shoes and closes the distance between them to press a kiss to Steve's cheek. “Now, lead the way to pancakes.”

Steve snorts, canting his head over to catch Billy’s mouth. It's chaste. Sweet.

And then Steve's fingers are curled around his wrist, pulling him toward the door.

***

The diner is cute. Old and rundown, but clearly a crowd favorite. Like every place in, around, or near Hollywood, there are pictures of well known and some not well known celebs up on the walls. There's a damn jukebox in the corner.

Billy kinda loves it.

When they settle into the booth, Steve slides into the seat next to him instead of across from him. Under the table, he hooks a leg over one of Billy's, and then props a menu open between them. They’re sitting thigh-to-thigh, and it feels so good, so intimate, to just be close to Steve in such a normal way. A non-sexual one. A nice reminder that this man next to him is Billy’s _boyfriend_.

"You wanna share?" Steve asks.

“Do you wanna move in with me?” Billy asks, eyes lingering on the picture of waffles on the menu. They’re stacked tall with whipped cream and a cherry, and all he can think of is Steve’s clothes in Billy’s drawers, Steve’s body in Billy’s space.

Steve blinks over at him, visibly caught off guard. "What?"

“I can move,” Billy says, quickly, “into, like, a two bedroom place, if that’s better. There are units in my building.”

He _knows_ it’s soon. But they’ve known each other for a while, and Billy knows what he wants. Knows what he _needs_.

Steve blinks again, twisting to look at him better, setting the menu down. "You… want me to move in with you into a new place?"

Billy shifts a little so he can look at Steve. He taps his fingers on the table, then shrugs. “I mean, preferably you could just move into my place, but I’d understand why you wouldn’t want to do that. If we move to a new place, then it’ll be partly yours right from the start.”

"I--" Steve falters, head ticking over, and Billy doesn't think he's gotten to see Steve like this-- still sleepy and processing with a slightly eager glint in his eyes warring with what must be tentative reluctance pinching his brows. "You want me to move in with you?"

He sounds so _confused. _But he's not saying no and he's not pulling away.

It's more like he's just trying to wrap his head around it.

“I want you to move in with me,” Billy says, happy to repeat it. It feels good to say, so _right_.

"_Why?" _Steve blurts out, then winces and shakes his head a little. "I mean, not that I don't-- I don't mean to say I don't _want _to-- what I'm saying is-- what I'm _trying_ to say is--"

Steve's face is flush as he babbles. But Billy it's still caught on the fact that Steve just basically said he _wants _to.

It makes Billy feel fucking _giddy_.

Which is probably why he finds the courage to let it all go at once. In for a penny, right?

“Baby, when two people love each other, they usually move in together, right?”

Steve's _ears _go pink. His eyes a little wide.

Then, he leans in and catches Billy's mouth with his own. Frames Billy's face between his hands. Presses in as close as he can when he's practically already halfway in his lap.

And as sweetly desperate the kiss is, it's somehow also impossibly chaste. Just Steve's lips pressing simply to his own. Billy thinks it’s the nicest kiss he’s ever had. Even better than their first kiss. Blows it straight out of the water.

Billy pulls back after a moment of lingering. His whole body feels warm, delighted. He’s grinning.

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

"My friends are gonna kill me," Steve mutters, eyes flitting between both of Billy's, thumbs dragging over Billy's cheeks. "Yeah, that's a yes."

Billy’s grin widens. He catches Steve in another kiss, this time a big hungrier, a bit more desperate. He only stops when he hears a gentle cough from nearby. He pulls back, only to offer his biggest,_ nicest_ smile to a very patient waitress.

“Do you boys want coffee?”

“Please,” Billy answers.

On top of the table, Steve slides his hand into Billy's, their fingers lacing easily. "And orange juice."

“And you love me,” Billy says, once the waitress walks away. He steals another kiss, quick and sneaky, pulling away with a smirk.

"I didn't think you caught that," Steve huffs, glancing away, almost _bashful_, but he squeezes at Billy's hand and drags his thumb back and forth over Billy's knuckles. "Besides, pretty sure you love me, too."

“Didn’t think you even realized you said it. You were a little out of it,” Billy says. He squeezes Steve’s hand back and presses his thumb to the center of Steve’s palm. “I do love you. But now seemed like a better time to tell you. Do you want waffles?”

Steve barks out a laugh, squinting over at him, fond amusement on every inch of his face. Billy's struck, suddenly, that he gets to keep this. That this is his. _Steve _is his.

"Only if there's extra whipped cream," Steve says. "And strawberries."

Billy interlaces their fingers, looking down at the way they intertwine and overlap; perfect. Everything he’s always wanted. Steve’s right here, next to him, and Billy knows he would give Steve the world.

“Anything.”

He squeezes Steve’s hand again, then brings Steve’s fingers up to his lips.

Billy doesn't think he'll ever let go.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, we needed a break for a hot second from the heaviness of a fix-it fic, so we started writing this as a palate cleanser. it's longer than we imagined it would be. whoops!
> 
> you can find brawlite @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/brawlite), [tumblr](http://brawlite.tumblr.com)
> 
> you can find toastranger @ [tumblr](https://toast-ranger-to-a-stranger.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] never gets old](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24152794) by [morph_reads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morph_reads/pseuds/morph_reads)


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